A Family Affair
by jasmine105
Summary: Family. It can make you or break you. Ask Horatio Caine whose tragic family history still informs every thought, decision or action he takes. Ask his son, Kyle Harmon, dealing with his own family issues and expectations. Or ask the Bobbysox Killer whose murder spree has its genesis in past family events. Story is a continuation of my Horatio/Lauren Chambers series.
1. Chapter 1

_All happy families resemble one another, but each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way. - Leo Tolstoy_

Chapter One - Another Day in Paradise

"Damn it to hell!" swore Kyle Harmon under his breath. One of his crutches had become tangled in the towel lying on the tiled surface of his father's kitchen floor. Suddenly, both the crutch and the offending towel started a frightening slide across the floor's smooth, ceramic surface, startling Kyle and threatening to upset his balance. He quickly let go of the crutch, wincing as it loudly hit the ceramic floor. His free hand made an awkward grab for the edge of the kitchen counter, and he barely managed to keep himself from falling. As he strove to maintain his balance, his heart thudded painfully as adrenaline coursed through his body. The last thing he wanted was to fall down on the cold, hard tiles just because he'd dropped a stupid kitchen towel! Even less appealing was the daunting effort it would take to struggle from a prone position to an upright one.

The anxious young man stood quietly at the counter for several minutes, waiting for his heart's staccato rhythm to gradually slow to a normal beat. Once he'd regained his composure, he used his remaining crutch as an aid and he hopped over to where the other had fallen. Slowly and carefully, he gingerly bent toward the crutch, mindful of the need to maintain his balance. With a methodical deliberateness - and some luck - he was finally able to grasp it. Like its counterpart, he positioned the crutch under an arm and swung his body around toward the refrigerator.

It was 1:00 in the afternoon, but Kyle felt he was entitled to a beer. Hell, he was entitled to a six-pack, if he wanted one! Cautiously balancing his weight on the crutches, he managed to open the refrigerator door and carefully grab the six-pack of Budweiser. He then systematically looped around two fingers the plastic that secured the cans to one another, thus freeing most of his hand to still grasp the crutch. Slowly, with an ungraceful gait, he hopped and swung his way into the living room where he gratefully sank down into his father's favorite reading chair. He leaned forward and sat the crutches up against the sofa near his chair, and then collapsed back into the chair's comfortable cushion.

Pulling a can free of the plastic binding, he popped back the aluminum tab and inhaled the brew's biting aroma. Suddenly, he raised the can in an imaginary toast and mockingly announced, "Here's to you, Kyle Harmon! Your courage and fortitude in making the long, hazardous journey to the refrigerator and back is hereby recognized and we salute you. Mission accomplished! Drink up, soldier!"

Lifting the cold can to his lips, he tilted his head back and drank deeply. After a few seconds, he lowered the can and dismally looked around the lonely room. _Just another day in Paradise,_ he thought. His eyes drifted unwillingly to his lap and, as always, his mood darkened with hopelessness.

He still had difficulty believing his leg was gone. A transfemoral amputation the doc had called it. Right. That was just a fancy medical term for what it was - the hacking off of his leg several inches above the knee after his unlucky involvement in an explosion.

His memory was spotty when it came to the events that followed the detonation of the improvised explosive device. The last vivid memory had been of riding in the truck with several members of his platoon; they had managed to get lost and were trying to re-route themselves back to base. The darkness hindered them as they made their way. Sometime later, the truck had run over the IED, but Kyle had no memory of it ... well, that wasn't entirely true. Hazy memories came and went. He knew they were there, hiding behind a door he didn't willingly care to open, a door the alcohol enabled him to keep closed.

Still, there were moments before the alcohol kicked in when his traitorous mind would try to pry open the door, and the sights, smells and sounds would drift back to him like a slow-sequence movie. He had a horrifying, foggy recollection of his pal, Tony Roselli, holding up his arms and waving the bloody stumps in the darkness, while screaming, "Where are my hands? My hands ... Sweet Jesus! My goddam hands are gone ... "

And, if the alcohol was exceptionally slow at blurring his memories, Kyle would remember the coppery taste of blood as it pooled inside his mouth where he'd bitten his cheek in terror ... and the acrid odor of spent explosives permeating the night air as he lay on the ground in darkness, pinned beneath a large piece of heavy metal that had once been part of the truck. He would recall the struggle of trying not to vomit as he was forced to listen to the screams and moans of his fellow soldiers and the fearful confusion all around him. And then ... yes, and then there was the awful, searing pain he had felt in his left leg.

Shuddering at the recollection, he felt his heart begin another rapid tattoo - it had been so terrifying, that desperate need to look at his leg and the inability to do so while imprisoned beneath the heavy, twisted metal.

Kyle's hand clenched the beer can tightly as the memories crested and sought to overcome him. Raising the can to his lips, he quickly drained its contents and then crushed it, tossing it onto the nearby table. Taking a deep breath, he opened another can, and reached for the television's remote control.

He clicked the "ON" button and started channel surfing through the programming in hopes of finding something to divert his attention from the frightful memories. Clicking past CNN, FOX, and all the other news channels, he frowned bitterly. It seemed to him that the news hacks took matters of life and death too lightly, reducing them to entertainment segments for a bored public. It angered him that the war was rarely covered, and certainly never in a meaningful way; no, the news was nothing but a tired litany of political dirty tricks, dirtier scandals, accusations, and all sorts of mind-numbing crap! Meanwhile, his comrades were stuck in some shit hole in the Middle East, not knowing friend from foe ... and who gave a damn? _No one gives a damn,_ he thought grimly.

Drinking his beer, he continued to aimlessly scan the programming options, pausing briefly on the HSLN channel. A cynical smile touched his lips and he increased the volume to listen more closely to what the two evangelists were saying. The Harvest Souls Love Network ... _now this is entertainment,_ he thought mirthlessly.

Kyle remembered his concern when he'd learned his mother was involved with one of the members of that operation. He'd asked his dad to check them out, and Horatio had - and he had also somehow managed to extricate Julia from her relationship with the religious flim flam artist. All of that now seemed a hundred years ago to Kyle - so much had happened in the interim; but in reality, it had only been five months ago, more or less.

On the television screen, "Sister" Lee-Anne and her husband, the Reverend Bobby Braxton, were praying for members of the studio and television audience. Radiating a form of sincerity, the woman allowed her thick eyelashes to flutter down as tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. Holding up her arms in supplication, she begged the audience to accept God's healing love. "Won't you let me pray for you? Dear friends, won't you accept the invitation to come like little children before your Father and allow His perfect healing to envelope you? Please call this number and tell us what your needs are, spiritual, emotional, physical, and let us pray for you." Beneath the face of a concerned Lee-Anne Braxton flashed the toll-free number 800-555-LOVE. A banner ran beneath the number: _Love offerings are appreciated and enable us to help others in need._

_Nice racket,_ Kyle thought. He crushed another empty beer can, and it too joined its brother on the table near the chair. Continuing to study the figure on the screen, Kyle bitterly asked the flickering image, "So, Sister, what about me? What can you do for me? Can you grow me a new leg? Can you make me stop being a fucking invalid?!"

Suddenly ashamed of his anger and self-pity, he turned the TV off and tossed the remote onto the sofa. He put his head into his hands and tried not to cry. He needed to get control of himself. What if his dad came home early and saw him like this, yelling at the TV, crying like a baby. He doubted Horatio Caine would understand. He was tough; that man was a survivor.

_What a disappointment I must be to him_, Kyle thought morosely.

After the docs in Afghanistan had taken his leg and did what they could for him, they transferred him almost immediately to the Walter Reed Army Medical Center near Washington DC. He remembered that flight as a hellish experience; he was in great pain and unable to sleep. When he was finally transported to the Center and placed in a room, he slept for much of the next several days, only waking long enough to beg for pain medication. Eventually, the brief periods of wakefulness and clarity increased and he was able to focus periodically on his surroundings.

When able at last to center his attention on something other than sleep or pain, one of the first things Kyle saw was his father's face looking into his, those signature bright blue eyes cloudy with concern. Relieved to see comprehension slowly returning to Kyle's eyes, Horatio had let out an involuntary sigh. He placed the palm of his hand gently on his boy's thin, pale cheek. "Welcome back, Son," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "I've been waiting for you to wake up."

His voice scratchy and hoarse from nonuse, Kyle had whispered to his father and Horatio had leaned in close to catch the words. "Knew you were here ... all along. Felt you here. ... Stay?"

"Always, Kyle ... always," Horatio had replied softly.

_And he was as good as his word,_ remembered Kyle. Horatio arranged for a short leave of absence from the Crime Lab in order to be with Kyle during those initial hard weeks. For the first time in the young man's life, he knew what it was like to experience the sustained love and support of the father he hadn't met until he was a teenager. Horatio became a strong, unyielding presence in Kyle's life during those horrible weeks right after he lost his leg, going to bat for him with the hospital and veterans administration, the physicians, the therapists. He was the bulwark that kept the annoyances at bay and the grease that got things done. He forcibly fought for pain medication for his distraught son when it seemed the staff tarried in providing it.

Most of all, Horatio served as the conduit through which communications with Julia were forced to flow. Kyle never had to explain to Horatio that despite his love for his mother, he couldn't face dealing with her right away; his father sensed it, and diplomatically kept Julia back home in Miami, assuring her all was well and that she could see Kyle on his return to Florida. When it seemed that Julia would press for her motherly rights, Horatio forcefully explained that Kyle needed to focus all his efforts on regaining his strength, and not have to jeopardize that focus by attempting to ease her worries. She seemed, finally, to grasp this, although none too happily. But Kyle didn't care. He was emotionally and physically drained, and he was unable to deal with her emotions during those weeks at Walter Reed; it was enough to face each day knowing how terribly his life had been altered. He didn't know how he would have pretended things were otherwise for his needy mother's benefit.

Horatio stayed with his son for a month, and then went back to work, flying back and forth on weekends to see him until, six weeks later, Kyle was released to go back to Miami. Horatio brought his son home to stay with him. It was fortunate that Horatio's house was a single-story residence; except for the few stairs off the back porch, everything was easily accessible for a young man who had to use crutches to get around.

It had been three weeks since Kyle had returned to Miami, a draining, emotional three weeks. During that time, Horatio had persuaded Kyle that it was now time for him to see his mother.

"She's worried, Kyle. She needs to see you, Son."

"I know, I know ... I just dread it. If she gets all weepy on me, I'm afraid I'll get angry with her, lose control ... you know?" he asked.

"Kyle, you will not lose control. I'll be there if Julia becomes difficult. I've already spoken with her; it will be okay. You cannot continue to put this off."  
Reluctantly, Kyle agreed and Julia finally got to see her son. Whatever his father had said to her had been effective. She did not grow weepy with him. Her large brown eyes had looked confused and somewhat wounded that her son had been so grievously injured; from time to time during the visit, she would reach out and touch his arm, as if to reassure herself that he really was okay. For the most part, however, she kept her emotions under control, showing a restraint that Kyle was not used to seeing when it came to the volatile Julia.

The only awkward moment occurred at the end of the visit when she was getting ready to leave. Kyle had been standing, supported by his crutches, when she suddenly pulled him close, kissing his face, but almost pulling him off balance in the process. If there was anything Kyle feared, it was falling and possibly injuring the stump where his leg had once been. Horatio, sizing up the situation, quickly and gently pulled Julia away, and grasped his son's arm tightly, preventing the spill that Kyle feared. Shakily, he told his mother goodnight, and swung himself around on his crutches and headed to his bedroom, leaving Horatio to say whatever he liked to Julia.

His dad was always patient with him, but Kyle could sense that he was worried about his son's lack of interest in life. Since he'd returned home, all Kyle seemed to want to do was lay about and go through the six-packs that Horatio reluctantly bought at his request.

And, worse, he'd begun to nag Kyle about keeping his medical appointments at the Veterans' hospital in Miami. Before he'd left Walter Reed, appointments had been set up for him with a medical team at the Miami VA hospital, as well as appointments with a physical therapist and social worker. The calls from the VA came almost every day, but Kyle, when he bothered to answer the calls at all, made appointments and then cancelled them.

Then there was the added pressure to learn to use the prosthetic limb. It made Kyle shudder. It was too much to process. Too final ... an admission that he truly was a cripple.

Just the night before, he had tried to articulate those feelings to his father, and he saw his father's anger, for the first time, directed at him.

"Son, you've been dealt a terrible hand ... but, Kyle, you have to fight these feelings of ... hopelessness ... you can get beyond this. Your life isn't finished. Do you understand me? You've got your entire life in front of you."

"Yeah ... as a cripple," Kyle had replied softly, bitterness underpinning the mild tone.

Horatio had sat down across from him and looked at him intently. "Is that how you choose to look at yourself?"

"It's what I am, isn't it?" he asked crossly.

"The only thing crippling you, Kyle, is your mindset."

"Easy for you to say," muttered his son.

Horatio's eyes had flashed, reminding Kyle that Horatio Caine angry was not a pleasant sight. But his father's anger made Kyle defensive, and words were said that Kyle later wished he could take back. Words that made him feel guilty and ashamed. Words that were harsh and accusatory. Horatio had just looked at him and, tamping down his anger, had left the room, leaving Kyle to stew by himself. He understood that his father was angry because Kyle didn't keep his appointments and refused to get used to the prosthetic limb. Well, as much as he loved his father, that was just too bad. _It was his life, right?_

The truth was that he just didn't give a damn anymore. What did he have to look forward to? To people awkwardly averting their gaze from him when they noticed his missing limb? Bitterly, he recalled how he had been weeks away from ending his stint with the Army, happy to leave it and the cursed Afghanistan behind him. Yes, just a matter of weeks before he walked (yes, walked!) on to a military plane that would take him, once and for all, back to Miami. Back to his home, his family. Such plans he had made - he was going to go to college, and then on to law school. Make something of himself. And now?

Now the closest he'd ever get to the study of law was watching Judge Judy in the afternoons as he downed six-packs of Budweiser.

_What the hell,_ he thought sullenly, opening another can of beer. _What the hell._

To be continued ...


	2. Chapter 2

_Desperado, why don't you come to your senses?_

_Come down from your fences, open the gate_

_It may be rainin', but there's a rainbow above you_

_You better let somebody love you_

_Before it's too late_

_- The Eagles_

Chapter Two - Opening the Gate

Lauren Chambers glanced out the sliding glass door that led to her balcony and smiled with pleasure at the twinkling lights of downtown Miami. The pretty sight complemented the glow of candlelight inside her condo, creating a cozy feeling within the attractive dwelling. Thoughtfully, she looked around her living room with approval before allowing her gaze to shift once more toward the beckoning lights of her adopted city. Lauren had fallen in love with the view of Miami from the high rise condo the first time she'd seen it, and it was the primary reason she'd purchased the unit which stood high above the city's business district. On soft summer nights she enjoyed sitting out on the balcony and wondering about all the people in the buildings below and what their individual stories were. She had shared that thought with Horatio one evening as they sat outside, enjoying late night brandies and listening to the muted sounds of the traffic below.

At the time, Horatio had laughed and then remarked with wryness, "I have a fair idea of what many of those stories are, and I can't say you're missing anything by not knowing them." She'd teasingly admonished him for his cynicism at the time, but she understood. He _did _know many of the stories of the people who lived in his city, and they were not always good ones. In truth, they were often very bad.

Turning her thoughts to the dinner she had prepared, her nose wrinkled appreciatively. The spicy scent of the chili simmering in the crock pot and the warm yeasty rolls warming in the oven reminded her of a few other matters that needed tending. Quickly, she lit the candles in the dining room and adjusted the napkins and flatware on the table. She had thrown together a simple meal, but one of Horatio's favorites. She gave the salad one last toss and returned it to the refrigerator. Finally, pouring herself a glass of wine, she smiled with satisfaction and chose some music for the evening. Music that would hopefully relax him. He needed a carefree evening.

Lauren was in a buoyant, hopeful frame of mind. She had finally managed to convince Horatio to leave Kyle for an evening and have dinner with her - and, if she had her way, he would be staying for breakfast as well. To that end, she had dressed in a short white skirt that left her slender, pretty legs bare, and a black lacy camisole. She glanced at her reflection in the antique mirror that hung in the dining room and smiled happily. She felt pretty and desirable. The camisole she wore had a charming, feminine neckline and emphasized her sweet curves in a way that was both graceful and enticing. Because Horatio often seemed fascinated by her almost waist-length hair, she'd left it loose, allowing it to fall down her back in gentle waves. Satisfied with her appearance, she turned away from her reflection, her sparkling gray eyes dancing with anticipation. She'd missed having Horatio's company for more than just a few hours here and there over the past several weeks. _Tonight is going to be different_, she promised herself. They needed some time together, uninterrupted by his job and his responsibilities at home.

The last few months had been hard on both of them. She doubted Horatio had any idea how difficult things had been for her, for she kept much of her worry and fear to herself, resolutely assuming an optimistic, strong and supportive role. She knew what an anxious time these past months had been for her troubled lover, and she had no desire to add to his burdens. But Lauren battled her own worries about Horatio's well-being and her secret fear that it sometimes seemed he was retreating emotionally from her. Why this was so, she didn't understand. She knew he loved her, but he seemed to be unable to let her help him, even when he needed it most. He kept his troubles and sadness locked deep inside, only occasionally allowing her a glimpse of his vulnerability.

When Kyle had been injured, she had offered to fly to Washington with him, willing to stay in the background if he wished, but wanting to be there for him if he needed her. He had been touched by the offer, yet he gently and firmly refused her help. During the month he had stayed with Kyle in Washington, he had kept in touch by phone, and once he'd returned to Miami to re-assume his responsibilities, they had quickly picked up their relationship again. But every weekend until Kyle's release from Walter Reed, he flew to Washington, never once asking her to go with him. She avoided bringing it up even though it hurt her; she could see in his eyes that he was asking her to understand and forgive his inability to share with her. Rather than risk driving him farther away, she had not insisted, deciding to deal with the matter at another time.

Kyle had been back in Miami now for several weeks and Lauren met him briefly when Horatio had invited her to the house for dinner. In the past, Kyle had indicated to Horatio that he wanted to meet Lauren, and Horatio had hoped that meeting her would put a halt to the young man's brooding, at least for one evening.

Lauren had been surprised by how young Kyle seemed. Certainly too young to have been in Afghanistan and much too young to have lost a limb in a war. Still, as she talked with him, she noticed his eyes and found herself revising that judgment. Kyle's eyes were at odds with the youthfulness of his appearance, and they were wary, often refusing to make contact with those of Lauren. He'd seen a lot, that was evident, and not much of it good. But he'd been pleasant to Lauren, even making a few half-hearted jokes about it being time his 'old man' got himself a girlfriend, and telling her it was nice to finally meet the lady who brought a smile to his father's face. Still, Kyle's strained attempts to be friendly saddened Lauren; it was easy to see the young man was battling depression and his efforts at normality were falling flat. After finishing dinner, he had said goodnight to Lauren and Horatio and retired to his room, leaving Horatio in a gloomy mood for the rest of the evening.

Suddenly, Lauren's thoughts were forced back to the present by a blinding flash of bright light that lit up the evening sky, and seconds later there was a loud crack of lightning that sounded frighteningly close. After a brief pause, a deluge of rain slammed heavily against the glass door and windows of the condo. Frowning, Lauren wondered if Horatio made it inside the building before the rain hit.

Unfortunately, that proved not to be the case: ten minutes later, she heard a key start to turn in her door and then stop. Horatio pushed opened the door and walked in, his suit jacket dripping and his hair plastered to his head. He had a decidedly irritated look on his face.

"Hi honey," greeted Lauren, and moved forward to kiss his mouth. "You're soaked! I was hoping you'd make it inside before the heavens opened up!"

"Lauren," he said, ignoring her words and the kiss, "why was the door unlocked? I tried the key, but the door opened without it." His brows drew together and his mouth whitened with grimness. "Anyone could have walked in here. That was pretty careless."

_Oh no_, she thought, _this isn't the way I'd envisioned the start of this evening. What's wrong? Is it being soaked to the skin? Surely he can't be this annoyed over the door being left unlocked._ "Horatio, I knew you were on your way over so, yes, I left the door unlocked for you."

"I have a key, Lauren ... remember? You should keep the door locked when you're inside. When you go outside! In fact, all the time! What if it hadn't been me?"

"But it was you, Horatio. Now, hand me your jacket. Good grief - your shirt and pants are soaked as well. Look, I've left some of your clothes out on the bed for you; why don't you take a quick shower while I pour you a glass of wine. You'll feel better once you're out of those wet things. Just put them on some hangers in the bathroom to dry."

He looked at her for a moment as if he wanted to continue the discussion, but then shrugged his shoulders and headed to the bedroom.

Watching him walk into the hall, she shook her head. _Oh, great. He's in a fantastic mood. What's happened now? Something with Kyle, probably. _

Fifteen minutes later, Horatio walked back into the living room; Lauren had turned down the lights, hoping the candlelight would soothe him. He sat down on the sofa and gazed out the sliding glass door, enjoying nature's light show. It was rather nice, sitting there quietly, watching the far-off lightning, hearing the rain pelting against the glass while the voice of Billie Holiday sang softly in the background. It was comforting. Lauren moved toward him, handing him a glass of wine.

"Feel better?" she asked. He nodded.

"I do. But about the door ... it was foolish and irresponsible to leave it unlocked."

"Oh for pete's sake, Horatio!" she said with exasperation. "Will you let it go?"

"'Let it go?' Do you know how often I see women who are injured or worse because strangers get inside their homes? You're not a child, Lauren. You don't leave the door unlocked - for anyone!"

_If he keeps this up, so help me, God, I'm gonna slug him!_ Counting mentally to ten - and then twenty! - Lauren continued staring at her annoyed and grumpy lover. Finally, she regained her composure, knowing she could now speak to him without snapping back. Again the feeling came to her that there was more to his irritability than just the unlocked door. Determined to make peace, she knelt down before him and brought a gentle hand to his cheek.

"You're right, love", she said softly. "I'm sorry. I should have locked the door. It wasn't very smart." She smiled winsomely as she added, "I throw myself on the mercy of the court! So, what sort of punishment do you think this offense calls for? Or should we explore the sentencing guidelines after dinner?"

Horatio blinked several times and slowly an endearing smile crossed his face. He had the grace to look abashed. For the first time since entering the condo, he noticed Lauren's appearance - and he liked what he saw. He also noticed the warm atmosphere she'd tried to create, and the scent of the spicy chili he favored wafting from the kitchen. Most of all, he noticed Lauren's eyes and saw the concern there vying with a gentle teasing for dominance. He sighed inwardly as he thought of how often these last few months he had put her second ... and sometimes third ... to the things going on in his life. It wasn't intentional. _Wasn't it?_ asked his brother's voice inside his head.

No, he loved Lauren, but things were ... complicated. As if in reproach, a bit of an old dream surfaced - the disturbing dream he'd had while at the hospital, sitting at Kyle's bedside. What had he said to his brother in that crazy dream ... that he wasn't like him when it came to relationships? _But ... wasn't he? Just a little?_

Brushing the troubling thought aside, he captured Lauren's hand and brought it to his mouth. Turning it palm upward, his lips brushed the sensitive skin. Looking at her steadily, he said, "Lauren, sweetheart, I'm sorry. I'm not in the best of moods, I'm afraid. I probably shouldn't have come over this evening ... but I wanted to see you. I've missed being with you. It just hasn't been a good day."

"Want to talk about it?"

"Maybe later ... right now, I'd like some of that chili I smell."

Lauren smiled and rose to her feet. She was about to turn toward the kitchen when Horatio once again reached for her hand and gently pulled her onto his lap. He buried his hand into the thick, blond waves and drew her head close to his own, capturing her mouth in an ardent kiss. Finally, trailing his lips from her mouth to her ear, he whispered softly, "Forgive me?"

A warm tide of feeling coursed through Lauren as Horatio lightly slipped a finger beneath the lacy strap of the black camisole and gently edged it off her shoulder. She suddenly found herself unable to speak.

"Sweet," he murmured softly, his moist, warm mouth at her throat, "sweet." His head dipped lower as his lips traced a lover's pathway to her breasts, and he softly inserted the tip of his tongue where the cleavage began while his thumb gently caressed a peaked nipple beneath the black lace. After a moment, he looked up, his blue eyes dark with feeling. He smiled hotly when he saw an answering tenderness mixed with arousal in Lauren's misty gray eyes. Acutely aware of his own passion, he said, "You know what? _I _think the chili can wait ... what do _you_ say, hmm?"

* * *

Later, after dinner, Lauren brought Horatio a cup of coffee as he sat in the living room, his head thrown back against the cushion, his eyes closed.

"Hey, you! Are you going to go to sleep on me now?" she asked teasingly, handing him the mug.

"Nope ... just resting my eyes." Looking down at the coffee, he wrinkled his nose. "This smells ... like blueberry." He looked at her with puzzlement.

"That's right. It's a new blend - blueberry cobbler. What do you think?"

He looked at her doubtfully. _Blueberry coffee?_ It didn't sound appealing. Tentatively, he took a sip of the hot brew, and then smiled. "This is actually ... pretty good."

"Like dessert, huh?" She looked at him appraisingly, worried that he seemed so tired. He had eaten the chili, but not with his usual gusto. Earlier, he had surprised her when his passion had so quickly ignited; but later, during dinner, he grew quiet and preoccupied. The weariness she saw on his face made her more determined than ever to convince him to stay the night. "How about something more substantial than coffee for dessert. I have something special warming in the oven."

"Maybe later, okay? Come sit by me."

Lauren sat down next to him on the sofa, slipping off her heels and stretching her long legs out as she put her feet up on the coffee table. She smiled as she noticed Horatio admiring her legs.

But her smile slowly faded as he remained quiet, seemingly lost in thought. "Horatio? Honey, what's wrong? You're awfully quiet ... is everything okay with Kyle?"

He sighed deeply. "No, actually it's not ... we had an awful argument last night."

"Tell me about it."

He looked at her, suddenly wanting to share his worries with someone rather than having them spin round and round the grooved circular pattern worn into his exhausted brain. "Kyle is ... drinking. Not a lot, but more than I like seeing. He's had problems with alcohol in the past. I worry he'll wind up like ..." Horatio paused. "I worry he'll end up in trouble again," he amended.

"He seems aimless; no plan for his life. That's a recipe for disaster. Worse, he's bitter." He looked at Lauren and frowned. "He calls himself a cripple."

Lauren was silent for a moment. "Well, honey, he just got home, you know. Isn't his behavior normal for someone who's experienced what he has? Maybe it's a terrible but temporary reaction to losing his leg. It was a horrific experience ... who knows what fears or memories hold him captive?"

"I understand that ... but still, I worry. He seems so lackadaisical about his future possibilities. Lauren, he lost a leg - a terrible thing - but it's not the end of his world. He has a good strong mind. His future is only constrained by his self-imposed limitations.

"He's not kept one of his appointments with the doctors or therapists. He always has an excuse for not keeping them."

Horatio's features stiffened with pain. "I think he blames me for his situation," he said softly.

"Oh no! I'm sure you're wrong. Why would you think that?"

Horatio leaned forward and dropped his folded hands between his legs. Lauren's heart caught as he lowered his head disconsolately. "He thinks that had I been there when he was growing up, he would have made different choices. Maybe not going into the Army would have been one of them... I don't know, Lauren. Maybe he's right."

Lauren hated it when he took on blame for things that were outside the realm of his responsibility. "Horatio, listen to me, honey. A lot of what Kyle is feeling ... saying ... it's his depression and confusion speaking. How can you blame yourself for not being with him in the past when you weren't aware he existed? If anyone bears responsibility for your not being involved, it's his mother - not you. She never told you about Kyle. Isn't that true?"

Not raising his head, he nodded. "That may be true ... but it doesn't alter the fact that the boy has had a long, hard road in a very short life. And now, losing his leg - well, that road has become a lot harder.

"I stopped home before coming here tonight. I didn't see Kyle at first - just crushed, empty beer cans lying about the living room. Too many of them for my liking. I looked into his room, and he was asleep on the bed. I was so ... annoyed and angry ... that I just wrote a note that I'd see him later and left the house. Seven o'clock in the evening, and he's sound asleep - as a result of the beer and nothing to occupy his time, no doubt."

"That's a sign of depression, Horatio."

"I know that. And that is one of the things that concerns me. You've seen his mother - her battles with manic depression ... and then there is my own family... "

Lauren's brows drew together as she looked at Horatio's slumped posture. He rarely spoke of his family, and when he did, he did so guardedly, his clipped speech letting her know that she shouldn't pursue the subject. She was at a loss as to what to think or say about his throwaway remark. Quietly, she just sat there, gently massaging his lower back, waiting to see if he'd continue. It was a sign of his somber mood that he did, surprising Lauren.

"My father ... he had problems with depression. And with alcohol. He was from Ireland ... Ulster. My mother once told me he was the moody, quick-tempered 'baby' of a large, quarrelsome, hard-drinking family. As a young man, he had to leave Ireland after some event that neither he nor my mother would talk about."

"Your mother was from Ireland, too?"

"My mother? No. My mother grew up in New York."

He hesitated for several long seconds before continuing. "My father would experience mood swings - usually brought on by not being able to work. He was a steel worker in Brooklyn - that's where I grew up, you know. When he had work, he was pretty disciplined. Stayed away from the alcohol, stayed on an even keel. Those were the good times.

"But sometimes the mill wouldn't have work, and they'd lay their people off. Those were the bad times."

He raised his head to look into Lauren's eyes. "Very bad times."

"You worry that Kyle is like your dad?" she asked.

Exhaling deeply, he nodded. "I do. The depression, the alcohol - it made life hell for my mother, my brother."

"And you?" she asked softly, smoothing back a lock of hair that had fallen over his eyes.

Again, he simply nodded.

"Have you tried to talk with Kyle about any of this?"

"He is not very receptive to listening to anything but his own pain at the moment. He's got bad blood on both sides - his mother ... my dad."

She smiled and said gently, "He's got your blood, too. Don't forget that. You've had your share of unhappiness and disappointment, yet you're still standing. Kyle's your son as well, Horatio. Don't discount your influence."

"Will it be enough? I'm not sure. Frankly, I don't know what to do ... maybe I'm too close to the situation."

"Well, if Kyle won't keep his appointments with the therapist, why don't you?"

"What?"

"Why can't you talk with his therapist? Explain what's going on, get a professional's viewpoint. The therapist should be able to tell you if what Kyle is experiencing is normal, temporary ... tell him what you told me, your worries and fears."

Horatio considered. "Talking with you is ... easier. I don't know if I can talk with someone else about this."

She leaned forward and kissed him. "You can - and you will. You'll do it for Kyle because you have to do it."

Horatio smiled at her. He felt a little lighter; it was good to let someone else help carry the burden, even just a little. "You're right ... although I can't say it is something I particularly relish."

"You know, you said Kyle accused you of not being there when he was young. You're there for him now - and in a big way. The therapist can maybe give you some strategies for dealing with Kyle's lack of ... motivation ... and maybe give you some ideas on how to persuade him to keep those VA appointments."

Feeling better now that he had some course of action to pursue, Horatio relaxed and leaned back into the cushions. "Yes, maybe. It's something to try, at any rate." He looked at his watch. It was almost midnight and he started to rise. "I should get home; it's getting late."

"No! Please, Horatio, don't leave. I was hoping you'd spend the night."

He hesitated, torn. He'd really rather stay than return home to his empty bed and his worries about Kyle's situation. It had been some time since he'd stayed an entire night with Lauren and he missed it. He slept better when she was near; hearing her soft, even breathing in the darkness of the night calmed him if he woke, and he was better able to keep the sometimes too-persistent demons at bay. "I didn't tell Kyle I wouldn't be home... "

"He's a big boy, Horatio. He'll figure it out. Besides, you can stop home on your way to work tomorrow morning.

"It's been so long since you've stayed more than a few hours. You're not the only one who dislikes waking up to an empty room, you know. I need you ... close. I want to feel you next to me tonight. Please?"

There was such a sweetness in her manner and a tenderness in her eyes that his own inclination to stay won out. _I'm not my brother!_ he reminded himself, as he looked at Lauren. Maybe it was time to put her first, for a change.

"Lady, looks like you have yourself a guest for the night. Shall we?" he asked, gently pulling her to her feet and tilting his head toward the bedroom.

"What about dessert?" she asked. "It's still warming in the oven."

"Turn the oven off, Myrtle," he said teasingly, using the childhood nickname her father had always employed with affection. He ran his fingers through her long blond hair and smiled. "It's time for bed."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

_I see the bad moon arising._

_I see trouble on the way._

_I see earthquakes and lightnin'._

_I see bad times today._

_I hear hurricanes ablowing._

_I know the end is coming soon._

_I fear rivers over flowing._

_I hear the voice of rage and ruin._

_Hope you got your things together._

_Hope you are quite prepared to die._

_Looks like we're in for nasty weather._

_One eye is taken for an eye._

_ - Creedence Clearwater Revival_

Chapter Three - Nasty Weather

Tom Loman squinted as he glanced up at the tall, thin man standing before him, a rangy silhouette contrasting darkly against the too-bright sky. So blinding was the harsh early morning sunlight, he could barely make out the man's features, but he'd recognize that familiar hands-on-hips stance anywhere. "Good morning, Lieutenant."

Horatio nodded a greeting. "Doctor, what do we have here?"

Tom looked down at the body before him, shook his head and sighed. "What we have is an assignation that went bad ... very bad." Raising his eyes again to Horatio, he joked darkly, "Bad first date, I'd say."

"Hmm ... first and last." Horatio squatted down next to the M.E. who was kneeling beside the body. "Details, please."

Behind him sounded the no-nonsense cadence of South Texas as Frank Tripp's voice suddenly disturbed the eddies of the quiet and strangely eerie morning. "Middle-aged white male, looks to be in his fifties. No I.D. - guessing the perp took it ... souvenir, maybe. A guy was walking his dog nearby, and the animal caught the scent and dragged the owner into the woods. They stumbled onto the body and the guy called it in.

"Look at the vic's chest, Horatio ... looks like burns to me."

"Why, thank you, 'Doctor,'" caustically remarked Loman to the detective before turning his attention back to Horatio. "Indeed, as the learned 'Doctor' Tripp points out, our victim's skin lesions appear to be burns; the general uniformity of the lesions would indicate they were inflicted by cigarette, the most common implement employed in such situations. Notice the circular pattern of the burns. The perpetrator must have held the cigarette firmly and directly against the skin for several long - and painful - seconds. The lesions are primarily located on his upper extremities, the chest ... there are a few lesions in other areas as well."

"Find any cigarette remnants nearby?" asked Horatio, his eyes briefly searching the grounds, and settling finally on CSIs Ryan Wolfe and Walter Simmons as they combed through dirt, foliage and high grasses in the vicinity of the body.

"Not yet, H," said Ryan. "It's remarkably clean for a crime scene." An uneasy look appeared on Ryan's face. "Weirdly quiet, too."

"Yeah, I was thinking the same thing," remarked Simmons, glancing up at the trees. "All these trees ... but no birds. Don't hear a single chirp. Kinda creepy on a sunny day."

Horatio said nothing, turning his attention back to Tom as the M.E. continued examining the victim.

Frank frowned. "I'm guessing this guy knew his tormentor - I'd say a hooker, since our man's pants are down. Our guy was probably a john going into a secluded area and willingly lowering his pants in the hope of good things to come."

"Yes, well, it appears he got more than he bargained for." Horatio observed the body. The man's hands been secured behind him with handcuffs.

"Cuffs," he remarked noncommittally.

"S&M? Maybe he was into kinky ... went a little too far with the fun and games. Wouldn't be the first time we saw something like this," mused Tripp. "Or maybe it was a vendetta carried out by a psycho prostitute ... You know, 'an eye for an eye...'"

Deep in thought, Horatio continued studying the victim. Pants down to his thighs, cigarette burns on his chest, a look of glassy terror in the slightly protruding, sightless eyes. The bluish tinge to the facial skin, especially around the lips, suggested hypoxia. Horatio looked at the man's penis. "Doctor, are those also cigarette burns?" he asked, pointing to the organ.

"Hmm, yes, Lieutenant ... those would be the 'other areas' I mentioned. There's also an injection site on the left side of his neck." Tom's gloved hand moved the victim's collar gently aside, allowing Horatio to view the area.

"Do we know what he was injected with?"

"No, not yet. My guess is a paralyzing agent of some sort. Neuromuscular. She wanted him docile, but aware of what was going on."

"'She?' Any reason to believe it's a woman?"

Startled, Tom replied, "No. I just assumed it was a female prostitute."

"Well, don't assume. Could have been a male." Horatio looked at their surroundings. It was a heavily wooded area of the park, and no doubt poorly lit in the evening_. Could the victim have been a gay man rendezvousing with a male prostitute? Someone anxious to keep his sexual proclivities a secret?_

"Approximate time of death, Tom?"

"Based on body temperature, I'd say he's been dead about six, maybe seven hours."

Horatio glanced at his watch; it was nine a.m. "That would mean the event probably occurred around two or three this morning."

Frank spoke up. "So ... maybe he meets someone in a bar, leaves with them. But why the park? Why not a hotel? Obviously has the money for one. Look at his clothes - nice suit, expensive shirt, leather shoes. And that watch - that sure ain't no Timex ... our boy here was apparently well-off. Businessman, probably. Wonder what his business was in this park last night?"

"Whatever it was, Frank, it got him killed. His affluence is likely to work in our favor; someone will be missing him."

Frank muttered his agreement as his restive eyes darted about the crime scene. "Yeah. We'll check missing persons."

"Yes, do that, please."

Horatio looked at Loman. "Well, Doctor, we know cigarette burns didn't kill our friend, here. The question is, what did? The slight blue cast to his skin, his lips ... hypoxia?"

Tom was opening the victim's mouth. "Maybe ... if my guess is correct about the agent utilized, his breathing - depending upon the dosage received - could have been compromised. ...Well, well ... what is this?"

"Got something?" asked Horatio.

"Think so ... something is lodged deep inside his throat. Very deep." Tom reached for a small pair of forceps and carefully inserted them inside the victim's throat. "Here we go," he said, gently pulling against the resistant object until finally drawing it out. "What do we have here?"

Tom held up a soggy piece of white fabric displaying flecks of blood and mucus. "Interesting," remarked Tom. "Gives additional credence to my thought that a neuromuscular drug was involved."

"How so?"

"The depth of the fabric inside the throat indicates the throat muscles were probably relaxed. The agent would have accomplished that."

Horatio tilted his head as he studied the sodden material hanging from the forceps. Frank suddenly squatted down next to him and murmured under his breath, "Sick."

Horatio looked at him quizzically. "Frank?"

"That's a child's sock - look at the bits of lace around the edging. My girls used to wear little white socks like that when they were small. Bobby socks, their mother called them."

"A little girl's sock," mused Horatio. "The perp shoved the sock deep down into the vic's throat ... choking him? Okay, let's bag the sock and check the area out. Doctor, when you've examined the body and figured out what agent was employed, call me."

Horatio stood up and pulled out his cell phone, punching in a familiar number. On the second buzz, Calleigh Duquesne answered.

"Calleigh, about a year ago, I recall a conversation with you in which you mentioned a series of murders that occurred in Alabama. My recollection is that you said children's socks were involved."

"Yes, that's right," said Calleigh, her mind quickly recalling the crimes. "Three unsolved murders near the coastal region of the state. In each case, the victim was a successful member of the community - older, well-established, male. Each had been restrained. A key piece linking the murders together had been a child's sock found lodged in the windpipe of each victim. There was quite a hullabaloo about it at the time - pillars of the community and all that ... each being found murdered in a compromising condition, and the inability of the police to tie the murders to a perpetrator. The cases remain open, but the killings stopped about three years ago.

"Why do you ask, Horatio?"

"Because if I'm correct, the killings have started again ... or we have a copycat. Calleigh, pull whatever you can from the database on the murders - I'm headed back to the lab."

He terminated the call and watched Tom and his assistant preparing the body for transport to the morgue.

"What do you think, H?" asked Tripp.

"I think, Frank," he said grimly, "Miami has a new killer on the loose."

* * *

Heading to the elevator, Horatio paused when the lab's new receptionist hailed him.

"Yes, Miss Evans?" he asked, observing the young woman who'd been hired to replace the former receptionist.

Horatio had never been much of a fan of the woman who'd manned the front desk in the past; Paula Edwards had been too overbearing and too inquisitive for his liking. Adding to his mild dislike of the woman was the affable, joking relationship she had cultivated with his old nemesis, Rick Stetler. This had been a thorn in Horatio's side during Rick's days with the Internal Affairs Bureau; it was with displeasure that he remembered Paula's genuine sadness when Stetler had been convicted of crimes and sent to prison. It was a memory that didn't count in the lady's favor with Horatio, who had always been distrustful of anyone who seemed to have a liking for the sly and meddlesome Stetler. _Was it fair of me to have held that against her?_ wondered Horatio. Probably not. But that's the way it was, and Horatio never got over his distaste for the lady.

He had thought the lab would be stuck with her forever since she'd performed her job well enough to keep it ... but earlier in the year the woman had discovered, much to her surprise and everyone else's, that she was pregnant. In her early forties at the time, the pregnancy had been considered high risk, so she eagerly made the decision to terminate her position with the lab and become a stay-at-home mom. It was, as she had put it to him, "a new chapter" in her life, one that had been unexpected, but welcomed by she and her husband. At the time, he'd been forced to admit to himself that there was a new softness in the woman's eyes and tone that hadn't been there before, and in the end he found himself happy enough to attend the farewell / baby shower that the staff held for her. At least Paula now had someone else to focus her attention on, and her too-interfering nature was now at the beck and call of a fat and saucy black-haired infant.

Briefly, Horatio studied the new receptionist. He hadn't had much of an opportunity to talk with Janine Evans and hadn't really formed an opinion of her. He supposed she might be pretty if there were any spontaneity to her expression. In contrast to the ebullient Paula, she appeared to be quiet and self-contained - and a bit stern. It was unlikely there would be any affable, joking relationship between this one and any of the IAB's emissaries.

"Lieutenant, I have several messages for you," she said, handing them over to Horatio, a small business-like smile on her face. "You also had a visitor earlier ... " Janine looked down at her note pad and then coolly met Horatio's eyes. "Julia Saris - she waited about twenty minutes and then left. Didn't leave a message. She seemed ... fidgety."

Dismayed, Horatio groaned inwardly. _Now, what?_ he thought. Thanking Janine, he walked toward the elevator, looking through the various messages, his thoughts centered on Julia's visit and what that might be all about. His thoughts and attention were so thoroughly engaged by Julia's unanticipated appearance that he missed the penetrating stare that Ms. Evans had focused on his retreating figure.

* * *

Settling into his office, Horatio sat down at his desk. Checking his phone, he saw he had a message from Lauren.

_Hey you, I was just thinking about you. I'm on my way to work, but wanted to find out if you'd talked with Kyle this morning when you got home. Horatio, you need to call the VA - it's important to make that appointment to speak with his therapist. If Kyle won't do it, you have to, honey. I'll talk to you later. Love you!_

Horatio put the phone down and turned his chair toward the wall of glass behind him, his eyes focused on the grounds outside the Crime Lab. Here, in the privacy of his office, his face bore evidence of his soul's tormented coupling of dread and resignation. The last thing he wanted to do was visit Kyle's therapist and relive all the crap of the past. He didn't like the thought of talking to a stranger. While he would endeavor to keep the conversation centered on Kyle and his situation, shrinks had a way of worming more information out of a person than he wished to provide.

Horatio was a man who'd learned to avoid too much introspection. It accomplished little, and often made him feel much worse than not thinking about things at all. His past was a minefield best not traveled; in truth, he often felt his psyche was held together by pins and needles. The thought of being tricked into opening a door to his past made him more than uncomfortable; it scared him a little. _A little? Who are you kidding, pal? It scares you a lot!_

Yet, he hated seeing his boy floundering. If talking to the doctor would help, even in a small way, he had to try. He really had no choice. Somehow, the prospect of opening up to a shrink had seemed more tenable in the soft light of Lauren's living room the previous night; in the harsh light of day, it seemed an awfully big hill to climb.

Still ... the unhappy memory of Kyle's depressed lethargy disturbed him and he guiltily chastised himself for his self-absorption. His son couldn't go on this way.

He'd stopped home briefly after leaving Lauren's place that morning, wanting to shower, change and check on Kyle's well-being. He found the young man still in bed asleep, dressed in the clothes he'd been wearing the day before, the TV playing softly in the background.

Horatio had flicked the television off and stood there quietly, looking into his son's sleeping face while his heart tightened with sadness. _The boy was so young!_ Sleep had eased the bitter set of Kyle's mouth, and the eyes that had seen too much were closed in slumber. Horatio had the unbidden thought that this must have been what he looked like as child, and a painful lump suddenly took up lodging in his throat. Intent on not waking his son, he gently stroked the desert-bleached hair, and then quickly left the room.

After he'd showered and walked into the kitchen to make some coffee, he'd been surprised to find a rumpled and still half-asleep Kyle sitting there, his crutches propped up against the kitchen table.

* * *

_"Good morning. Care for some coffee?" Horatio asked._

_Bleary-eyed, Kyle nodded and managed a half-hearted smile. "Yeah ... thanks, Dad."_

_"Rough night?"_

_"Long night. Bad dreams."_

_Horatio poured two mugs of coffee and sat down across from him. "About the explosion?"_

_Taking the proffered mug, Kyle sighed. "Some ... but other things as well. I woke up about 1:15... 'fraid things got a little loud. I ... um ... woke up yelling."_

_Horatio frowned. "Kyle, you need to speak with someone. Son, the memories, the fears ... if you refuse to deal with them, they will find a way to come out. Take it from me."_

_Kyle regarded his father evenly. "Yes. Well, I'll think about it. Right now, it's hard enough to put one foot in front of the other without dredging up experiences in Afghanistan."_

_The boy suddenly laughed harshly. "That was rich! Did you hear what I said? 'One foot in front of the other' - if only that was the problem."_

_Horatio said nothing and continued drinking his coffee. Embarrassed, Kyle stopped laughing. 'Guess it's a bit early in the morning to be taking a ride on the Self-Pity Express,' he thought bitterly, noting his father's lack of amusement._

_"Any plans for today, Kyle?"_

_"I dunno," the young man said dispiritedly. "What do you suggest? Water-skiing? Maybe training for a marathon? Nice long walk on the beach, perhaps?"_

_Horatio's mouth tightened; noticing this, Kyle stopped._

_"You know, Son, you could call the VA today - schedule some appointments. And," he said pointedly, "keep them."_

_Kyle said nothing, staring into his coffee._

_"There's a computer in the den; you might use it to look at some courses available at the local colleges. See what interests you. You talked about going back to school. I think that's a fine idea."_

_"That was before ... " the boy's mumbled response trailed off into nothingness._

_Horatio noted his son's defeated attitude and listless posture, and he felt frustrated by his own inability to help him. He rose and dumped his remaining coffee into the sink. "Well, I have to get to work. We'll talk about things over dinner this evening. Do me a favor, okay? At least think about what I've said."_

_Without raising his head, Kyle nodded._

_"Okay ... I'll see you later." He squeezed the young man's shoulder and quickly left the house._

* * *

His eyes closed, Horatio sighed and tightly pinched the bridge of his nose. _What to do, what__ to do, what to do?_

_Stop being a coward, man! You know what you have to do. God, I hope that Julia isn't dragged into this - what a nasty business that could turn out to be._

A harsh smile appeared on Horatio's face as he contemplated his troubled past, the bizarre history with Julia, and the many years that Kyle went without mother or father. It made his head ache to think about it. _Looks like we're in for nasty weather_, he thought sourly.

Finally, he opened sad, worried blue eyes and slowly spun his chair back toward his desk. He pulled a thin wallet out of the inside pocket of his jacket and extracted a small piece of paper from within. Reluctantly, he studied the numbers he'd hastily written down earlier that morning while still at home.

After several seconds of indecision, he resolutely punched the numbers into his cell phone and waited. Finally, he heard a voice on the other end.

"Miami VA Healthcare Services. How may I help you?"

Haltingly, Horatio replied, "My name is Horatio Caine ... and my son is a veteran ... and he ... no, _we_ ... need some help."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four - Just Another Day at the Office

_Several days later..._

Calleigh looked up from the microscope, sensing the pair of intense eyes focused upon her. Turning her head, she smiled at the serious man who was standing behind her, holding in one hand a file and in the other a mug of steaming coffee. "Hey, handsome, come to visit? I don't suppose that coffee is for me?"

"Only if you like it extra strong, black and scalding," he smiled, taking a sip of the very hot beverage.

"No cream or sugar? Think I'll take a pass," she said, wrinkling her nose in distaste and flipping back a long blond lock that had fallen over her shoulder. She leaned forward and looked once more into the microscope. "So, I take it this visit concerns that file you're holding."

"Yes ma'am." He leaned over her shoulder, suddenly interested in what she was viewing under the microscope. "What are you looking at?"

"Eric's working the Gutierrez murder with Detective Lorenzo. We might be close to solving this one. He asked me to compare the striations on the bullet found in the boy's body with that of a weapon found in the office of the primary suspect."

"A match?"

"Not sure; I'll know more in a little while." Looking up again, she gave him a sunny smile, one that was part good-natured curiosity and part anticipation. "So, boss, what can I do for you?"

"Calleigh, I've read the report you pulled together on the murders in Alabama."

"The Bobbysox murders."

Horatio grimaced. He hated the name the press had given to the series of murders in Alabama. It not only sensationalized the cases but it trivialized them. He supposed he understood that sensationalism sold a story, but it made him uncomfortable. Each of the people killed had a history as well as families that cared about them; the demeaning catch phrase, "Bobbysox Murders," filled him with dismay. It seemed somehow disrespectful of the victims.

He said nothing, but Calleigh, used to Horatio's expressions, easily read his reaction to her use of the phrase. "Sorry, Horatio. I guess after reading all the newspaper accounts and police reports, the name came easily to me."

"No need to apologize. Let's just not lose sight that these are real people we're talking about ... not characters in a crime novel or press accounts in scandal magazines."

Calleigh nodded, not taking offense at Horatio's gentle remonstrance. She understood he wasn't directing his criticism at her as much as he was explaining his own discomfort with the way the Alabama press had sensationalized the reporting of the murders. One of the things she admired most about her lieutenant was the respect he afforded the victims of violent crime and his sensitivity toward their families. He had his hard edges, but his sympathies were always with the victims of random violence. Making a mental note not to use the term aloud again, she asked, "Did you have any questions about the data?"

"You know, I was struck by how little physical evidence was left behind in each case. There was the children's sock, the cigarette burns, the presumed use of some sort of neuromuscular agent ... but there was no physical evidence left by the perpetrator on any of the bodies. No epithelium ... no stray hairs ... no fabric threads." A frustrated sigh escaped his lips before he continued. "No cigarette butts near the body; no hypodermic needle. And the inability of the police to identify the actual agent that the killer used. What does all that suggest to you?"

"A very careful murderer - one who knew what he or she was doing."

"Hmm ... exactly. Almost as if the unsub is playing with us, knowing what to avoid leaving ... avoid touching." Horatio stared past Calleigh, his eyes seeing something only he could see, something deep in the recesses of his mind. She could almost see the gears turning behind those eyes while the criminologist was busily formulating and then discarding various hypotheses. "Calleigh, all that implies a certain amount of knowledge about what we'd be looking for ..."

"Rogue cop?"

"Maybe, although the profile doesn't really suggest a cop."

"So, what does it suggest to you?" she asked, watching him closely. She always found it fascinating to observe Horatio when he was working a case; she wondered what was going on behind those impenetrable blue eyes. Working with him had always been compelling, and the demands he made kept her sharp. By example, he encouraged her to think outside the box. She admired his passion for the job and his desire for justice, and it created within her the desire to make him proud of her. Calleigh worked hard to justify the faith he had in her abilities. He made her realize how important their work was.

When she'd first started working with Horatio, she had been very naive. She had quickly had her eyes opened to the accommodations that were sometimes made in spite of the tale the evidence told. When the State's Attorney considered the evidence they so diligently compiled as too politically embarrassing to use against those in power, or when it was deemed more advantageous to dismiss it as insufficient in hopes of catching bigger fish, deals were sometimes cut that allowed a perp to get a very reduced sentence. When this happened, Calleigh's southern girl temper would ignite. After one particularly bad outcome, she had angrily asked Horatio how he managed to keep his cool when he knew a suspect was 'guilty as hell!' and still a deal was cut.

_At the time, he had smiled enigmatically and said, "Did you do your best, Calleigh?"_

"_You know I did!"_

"_Well, then, okay. We do what we can – and then we sleep at night. We do it for the victim, we do it for the family. And, then, we sleep at night."_

"_Do you think the State's Attorney sleeps at night?"_

"_I don't know; but that's not our concern, is it? Our concern is to evaluate and interpret the evidence in such a way that we prove beyond a reasonable doubt that a suspect is guilty of the crime he is charged with. And when we're compiling evidence, when we're evaluating it, we keep the victim in mind. We remember he had a family. And insofar as it's in our power, we work toward providing them with justice. That's all we can do, Calleigh."_

Horatio came out of his reverie and met Calleigh's eyes. "I'm not sure what any of this suggests yet. I'm still putting the pieces together. I'll let you know when I have a clearer picture."

Horatio looked at his coffee for a moment, and then took another sip. "We have an ID on the victim. Jefferson Carter ... businessman from Virginia, down here for a conference. After not hearing from him for forty-eight hours, someone from his office filed a missing persons report. Seems Mr. Carter was separated at the time of his death. I spoke briefly with his wife ... a lot of bitterness there. Apparently he was not the best of husbands. But, in spite of that, she was still pretty broken up; I suspect she still loved him in spite of his shortcomings."

"Any kids?"

"Three. Seems he was a good father, if not a good husband."

"Beyond the crime itself, any connections between our guy and the three vics in Alabama?"

"Like the men in Baldwin County, he was white, early fifties, successful ... busy with community affairs … respected. Beyond that, nothing ... yet... " He shook his head, mildly frustrated.

"Hey, I'm on my way to see Tom; would you like to accompany me on a visit to the good doctor?" Horatio took a final sip of his coffee and sat it down on a file cabinet. "He's got some information on the victim; you might find it interesting."

Regretfully, she shook her head and pointed toward the microscope. "I'd like to, but I promised Eric these results ASAP - they really want to put this one away as quickly as possible."

"I understand."

She was disappointed that she couldn't accompany him but resigned as well. She was very interested in the Bobbysox case. The murders in Alabama had caught her attention when she first heard of them. The police had no luck in solving the cases at the time and any possible leads had since dried up. It had seemed likely the cases would remain unsolved ... especially after they seemed to stop. Now they had an unsub in Miami copycatting the murders ... or else starting up again, this time in a new location and after a three-year hiatus. Sighing, she focused again on the bullet that was secured beneath the lens of her microscope. She wanted very much to hear what Tom had to say about the new victim, but she'd just have to wait for Horatio's report.

* * *

Entering the morgue, Horatio saw that the doctor was engaged in close conversation with the junior medical examiner the city had recently hired. Like many big cities, Miami was experiencing financial challenges and many of its services were on the cutting block; still, approval had been obtained for an additional medical examiner. The overworked ME team was always up to its elbows, literally and figuratively, in the number of autopsies they had to perform - Miami was a beautiful city, but also a deadly one.

The junior medical examiner was a cheerful little woman, perhaps just a shade over 5 feet tall and had been assigned to Tom Loman's rotation. Her short auburn hair was haphazardly sticking out of a coroner's cap, and a surgical mask dangled loosely about her neck. As he approached, Becki Banks' sparkling brown eyes regarded him with good-natured, professional interest.

"Doctors, I understand you have some news about the agent used on our victim?"

Tom nodded, and turned graciously toward Becki. "Doctor Banks, would you explain, please." Horatio blinked at this; Tom Loman was a bit of a showboat, always enjoying an opportunity to demonstrate his knowledge in front of others. His willingness to let someone else share the spotlight surprised Horatio.

The woman smiled expansively. "Sure - thanks, Tom." She turned eagerly toward Horatio and her lightly freckled face lit up. Horatio had known many a medical examiner in his day, but he was always disconcerted when confronted with the enthusiasm with which they seemed to embrace their jobs. _The same might be said of you, pal_, he thought wryly.

"Lieutenant," she began, pointing toward the victim's body and gently tapping the injection site with a gloved finger, "we have been able to identify the agent. The drug employed was Suxamethonium chloride, an agent utilized to induce muscle relaxation and temporary paralysis.

"It's very effective - it quickly paralyzes the muscles, including those used for breathing. Without proper ventilation, the patient dies of asphyxiation. One of the limitations of Suxamethonium is that it doesn't render the patient unconscious or without pain. The agent has no sedative or pain-relieving properties. Thus, it is generally used in conjunction with an anesthetic.

"Administering the drug to someone who is conscious is particularly creepy." A look of distress flitted briefly across the female doctor's face. "Think of how horrifying it must be to have awareness of what is happening to you, to experience pain and the inability to breathe, but be imprisoned within a state of paralysis with no ability to communicate."

"Yes," continued Tom enthusiastically, "it would indeed be a terrifying ordeal. The use of Suxamenthonium to kill a victim has long been a staple in crime fiction – mainly because the drug degrades so quickly that it's hard to detect its presence in a victim. But we now know what to look for… "

Horatio tilted his head. "Odd that the agent wasn't identified in the previous cases."

"Not really," said Becki. "Maybe our case isn't really tied to the others ... or perhaps there wasn't enough of the agent remaining in the victims' bodies to identify it. It's still a challenge to identify the drug, even with the use of gas chromatography. The stuff metabolizes pretty darn quick ... the body's enzymes begin to break it down almost immediately and that's the problem - there's nothing left of the agent to test."

"Which means any testing for the drug proves negative," finished Tom.

"So how did you identify it?"

"Well, Lieutenant," replied Becki, "there are identifiable breakdown products - metabolites - and IF you know what you're looking for, you can look for those. We did - thanks to Doctor Loman's canny suspicions." Horatio glanced at Tom, who was grinning with obvious enjoyment at the younger woman's praise. "We excised slices of Mr. Carson's brain tissue - and we were able to isolate several of the agent's metabolites from the tissue, notably succinic acid." She beamed approvingly at Loman.

"So, Doctors, tell me a little more about the drug - what its uses are, and what sort of individual might have access to it."

"Well, its primary medical use is in trauma care because of its ability to quickly relax the muscles and because it metabolizes so quickly, allowing the paralysis to diminish in a short period of time. For example, in an emergency situation a patient may have to be subjected to endotracheal intubation - something that needs to be accomplished quickly. Once the procedure is completed, it's important that the muscles, particularly those that control breathing, begin to work again. The drug is often used in elder care where the need to intubate arises more often."

Horatio inwardly shuddered while the two doctors contemplated the thought with clinical detachment.

Becki continued. "Let's see ... it's also used in electroconvulsive therapy."

"Electric shock treatments?" Horatio asked.

"Yep. It's use is highly favored by physicians for the same reasons already stated - quick action in relaxing muscles for therapy and short duration of effects. Muscular activity quickly resumes after treatment.

"Vets are known to use it as well - in the immobilization of horses." When Horatio looked at her quizzically, she added, "For purposes of euthanasia."

"Speaking of euthanasia," continued Tom, "in years past it was one of the preferred drugs used in the death-row cocktail. A lethal injection is made up of three agents - a sedative to put the patient to sleep, a paralytic agent to immobilize the muscles, and then potassium chloride to stop the heart. Sux", he said, utilizing the drug's nickname, "was the paralytic agent. Not so popular anymore ... better, more effective drugs for that now."

"Grizzly little drug, isn't it," commented Horatio.

"Now, now, Lieutenant, it has its benefits."

"So," asked Horatio, "the question is how did our perp get access to the drug?"

Tom shrugged. "Well, he or she could be a physician, an anesthesiologist, a nurse, an EMT, or someone who works in the veterinary field ... even someone who works on death-row."

"I see," Horatio remarked contemplatively. "Alright, Doctors ... thank you."

Leaving the doctors behind, still enthusiastically engaged in conversation about the drug, he felt a chill go up his spine. _At times_, he thought, _medical examiners are a strange lot_. Horatio felt his phone vibrate as he walked through the morgue's swinging doors and out into the hallway.

"Horatio Caine."

"Mr. Caine, this is Art Shapiro from the VA. I'm returning your call about your son, Kyle Harmon," said a raspy, no-nonsense voice. "Mr. Harmon was assigned to my case load. I'm glad you contacted me since I've had difficulty making contact with him."

Horatio felt his heart begin to beat uncomfortably fast and he quickly stopped walking and stood very still. _Calm down, pal ... it's just a conversation_, he thought. "Mr. Shapiro, are you Kyle's therapist?"

"I am. Your son hasn't kept one of the appointments he's made with me; does this mean he feels he doesn't need help?"

"Doctor, he needs help; he just refuses to accept it."

A second or two of silence passed. "That's a problem; unfortunately, it's not unique among vets returning home after seeing combat. How is he doing? Is he eating? Sleeping?"

"Not very well," admitted Horatio. "I'm worried. He seems to have given up on his future. I don't know what to do."

"Mr. Caine, can you come to see me? It would help your son. This isn't going to resolve itself. I don't want to frighten you, but … there is a high rate of suicide among returning vets."

Horatio felt the room start to spin slightly, and he quickly got hold of his emotions.

"Mr. Caine? I'm sorry. I'm not trying to scare you by insinuating your son is on the brink of suicide. What I am trying to do is convey the seriousness of the situation. But I think you do understand that … or you wouldn't have called me … right?"

Horatio swallowed, trying to get his voice under control. "Right. I'll do what I have to, Doctor."

The gruff voice gentled just a bit. "That's half the battle, sir. Look, I just had a cancellation on my calendar and, if you're available, I can see you tomorrow at 3:30. Can you make it?"

Horatio took a deep breath. "I'll be there."

* * *

Maxine Valera had a headache. A very bad headache. She'd had trouble concentrating the entire morning and now that she'd completed the analysis of the blood spatter Eric had dropped off yesterday, she was going to gather her things and go home. _Everyone deserves a sick day once in a while_, she thought.

She looked at her watch; she'd stuck it out until noon. That was enough dedication for today. Her hand shakily rubbed her throbbing forehead as she remained seated in front of the lab table. _God, my head is splitting! I hope I'm not going to be sick._

As a girl, Maxine had suffered from debilitating migraines. Her mind drifted back to the hot summer afternoons when her mother would encourage her to lie down in her parents' bedroom and take a nap in the cool darkness of the shuttered room. She grew up in a poor working class neighborhood in an aged Victorian house - one that had seen better days. Her parent's room was the only room in the house that had been air-conditioned. She'd lay there quietly, hardly daring to move, afraid the pain would tear her brain apart. Her mother would slip quietly into the room and lay a cool, moist hand towel on her forehead and then slip out again.

The migraines stopped when Maxine left home for college. She figured she just outgrew them; nobody really understood what caused migraines - or what cured them. Whatever the reason, she had been thrilled when they had stopped. And she had been pain-free for ten happy years.

And then ... and then about four months ago, the pain had started again ... and so did the dreams.

Softly groaning, she continued rubbing her temples. The dreams ... those terrible, vague dreams that caused her to wake with a start, drenched in sweat, her heart racing. Yet, try as she would, she could never recall the specifics of the dreams - just that they had been unpleasant and frightening. They left her bone-weary, feeling as if she hadn't slept at all during the night.

No wonder the migraines were back!

"Maxine?"

Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by Calleigh, who was standing in the door way.

"Yeah, Calleigh ... what's up?"

Calleigh hesitated. "I came by for the results of the blood analysis." She looked closely at Maxine, noting the puffiness beneath her pain-filled eyes. "Maxine, are you okay? You look like you're going to be ill."

Maxine tried to smile. "I feel terrible. I have the worst headache. I'm thinking about taking the rest of the day off. But I did manage to complete the blood analysis for Eric. Here are the results," she said, handing a folder to Calleigh.

Calleigh opened the folder and quickly scanned the paper within. "Good work, Maxine! Eric is going to like this! It confirms that the blood spatter in Joey Mendez' office belonged to Ricky Gutierrez. Eric was convinced Mendez was the shooter. I can tie the bullet to Mendez' gun ... and you've confirmed the blood was Ricky's. This is just what we need to provide to the State's Attorney."

Maxine continued smiling, but was thinking, _God, is she ever going to leave? Just go, Calleigh ... so I can GO!_

Calleigh suddenly stopped smiling. "Maxine, you should leave... you are positively white. Why don't I take you home?"

"No, I have my car. I'll be fine."

"I don't think you should drive ... "

"No,' she repeated, her voice abrupt. "No, I'll be okay. Don't make a fuss."

Calleigh looked at her doubtfully, but Maxine's voice had been determined. "Okay ... but you call me if you need someone. I mean that; you're family, Maxine."

An awful shudder ran through Valera at Calleigh's innocent remark. "Thank you ... um, if you don't mind, I think I'll quickly clean up here and go."

"Of course," said Calleigh. About to leave, she walked toward the door, but turned back to glance at Maxine. It didn't feel right ... but what could she do? Maxine had always been a bit of a puzzle. She was friendly enough and had a quirky sense of humor that appealed to Calleigh, but there was a line with Maxine that one was never able to cross ... she was a loner, and kept everyone at arm's length. For a few seconds, Calleigh watched the young woman gather up her things, and then she shrugged and went in search of Eric to give him the results of the blood spatter analysis.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five - Invisible Wounds

Horatio stood in front of the door, studying the old black lettering imprinted on the dull, frosted glass: **CAPT. ARTHUR G. SHAPIRO, M.D.** Not for the first time, he found himself wondering just how good an idea this visit really was. _Nothing to be done now; he'd committed to seeing the doctor._ With a steely look in his eyes, he sharply rapped his knuckles twice against the glass, listening to the hollow sound reverberate around him.

"Come in," called a gruff voice from within the office.

Taking a deep breath, Horatio opened the door and walked inside, meeting for the first time the man he hoped would have a positive impact on his son's life. _Otherwise, what the hell am I doing here?_ he thought.

Art Shapiro stood up and extended a beefy hand toward Horatio. He was a man of moderate height, barrel-chested, with strong features. His short hair was mostly gray, and grizzled both in appearance and in texture. He had a strong nose that would have overpowered a lesser face, but the square chin and the determined, generous mouth with deep lines on either side balanced it out. It was a face that held no truck with foolishness or indecision, and it radiated pragmatism and common-sense. Still, it was not a cruel face. Mitigating the harsh lines and strong features was a pair of intelligent, sensitive hazel eyes - eyes that could shine with either humor or compassion. At present, they were focused on Horatio with a gentle inquisitiveness.

"Mr. Horatio Caine?" he asked. The voice was commanding and raspy. _An old soldier's voice_, thought Horatio... but the man was not old. He was, perhaps, in his late forties.

Horatio nodded and offered his hand to the doctor. "Thank you for seeing me so quickly, Doctor."

Shapiro nodded, and gestured to two plush chairs over in the corner of his office. "Sit down, sir. Would you like some coffee?"

Horatio shook his head 'no' and regarded the doctor intently. Suddenly Shapiro smiled - a big toothy grin that lit up his seamed face. "Doing a psych evaluation, Mr. Caine? I thought that was my area," he said, good-naturedly, leaning back in his chair.

Horatio smiled, caught in the act. "Sorry, Doctor; I find the... uh, 'evaluation'... mode hard to turn off. I'm afraid it's a bit of an occupational hazard."

"And what occupation would that be, sir?"

"I'm a criminologist ... a lieutenant with the Miami-Dade Crime Lab."

"Really? Well, that's an interesting job. A criminologist," Shapiro mused. "So, you're pretty adept at listening to people... not to just what they say, but what they don't say, heh?"

Horatio smiled. "You might say so."

"Hmmpf... " Shapiro picked up a pencil from the small table near his chair and began to play with it, his eyes watching his fingers as he did so. "You know, in some ways, our work is not all that dissimilar, Lieutenant. Looking for clues, listening to what our subjects say - and, of course, what they don't say - and then drawing conclusions. Of course, your conclusions either send a man to prison... or exonerate him."

"And your conclusions, Doctor?"

Shapiro leaned forward suddenly and his eyes narrowed as he regarded Horatio thoughtfully. "My goal is to help men and women free themselves from the emotional jails that imprison them - help them find the keys to open up those prison cells. Takes a lot of work and commitment to look for those keys. They're often buried beneath some pretty unsavory stuff. It's a strong man or woman who has the guts and determination to wade through all the garbage in search of the keys. But it can be done.

"That's what I want to do for Kyle, Lieutenant. Assist him with finding the key to his own prison."

Horatio nodded. He wanted freedom for his son as well.

"I'm sorry if I frightened you during our phone conversation yesterday. I could tell you were shaken. It's important to understand one thing upfront about U.S. soldiers, Lieutenant. The staggering statistic is that every day, one soldier commits suicide."

"What?" Horatio's eyes widened. "That can't be right."

"I'm afraid it is. And it has the military confused about the causes behind the suicides and how to recognize depression before it gets to that point - and combat it. The number of returning vets experiencing depression and suicidal thoughts has skyrocketed since the Iraqi and Afghan conflicts. In an attempt to cope with the numbers, the Department of Veterans Affairs has initiated resiliency training programs and increased emergency hotlines to deal with the crisis. And it's still not enough. Veterans make up only thirteen percent of the US population, but they account for nearly twenty percent of suicides. Male vets are twice as likely to take their own life as men with no military service... and vets with post-traumatic syndrome disorder are more than three times likely to die by suicide as their civilian peers. It's a terrible thing. And add to that the reality of living with disability... it's pretty important that help be obtained for distressed vets."

Shapiro watched Horatio closely, noting with approval the impact his words were having on the Lieutenant. The man had paled as he listened to Shapiro, and a grim sort of understanding began to appear on his face.

In a more gentle tone, Shapiro continued. "Tell me about Kyle, Lieutenant."

Horatio swallowed. "Tell you about, Kyle? Well, right now he's morose and flippant and ... yes, and depressed. But he is not suicidal. I'm sure of it."

"And you're probably right about that. But I'd be a poor physician if I didn't make you aware of how serious things are for men returning from the war front after having seen action. I just want you to understand that suicide among veterans is a real problem - that way, you know what to look for, what to be on the alert for - understand?"

Somewhat calmer, Horatio nodded. "I'm still learning about Kyle, Doctor. My son... my son and I were strangers until several years ago. Neither of us knew the other existed."

Shapiro shifted in his chair, a frown on his face. "You want to clarify that for me? I don't understand."

"Kyle was raised in foster care until the age of fifteen. His mother lost custody of him somewhere along the way. She never told me of the boy's existence," he said, painfully, his eyes sliding away from those of the doctor.

Shapiro said nothing for a moment. "His mother is still alive? Does Kyle have a relationship with her?"

"He does. It's a difficult one."

"I'd say so... how is his relationship with you?"

Pausing, Horatio considered. "It was troubled, initially. But it seemed to have worked its way out. I was surprised and upset when he'd joined the Army, but in many ways, it seemed to have a positive effect on him. The last year, especially... he told me he had decided not to re-enlist. He wanted to come home, go back to school. He talked of studying law."

Horatio swallowed the sudden lump of pain in his throat, recalling a conversation he'd had with Kyle before the accident. He'd been so full of hope and plans. He had even shyly told Horatio that he wanted to be the sort of man his father would be proud of.

"It seemed that he was finding himself... he told me he wanted to 'make me proud' of him... as if I wasn't already." Horatio's voice broke and he stopped speaking for a moment, waiting for Shapiro to fill the empty silence. When he didn't, Horatio looked up at him. "My son hasn't had an easy life. He was robbed of a father. His mother has emotional problems. We've let him down, Doctor."

Shapiro regarded Horatio with compassion. "That can change, sir. The fact that you're sitting across from me right now confirms that. It's telling that Kyle expressed a desire to make you proud - shows your good opinion has value to him. That's a good thing; it can help us.

"You said your son's mother has emotional problems. That's a concern. You realize these things are often genetic?"

Horatio nodded uncomfortably. "My dad... he, ah, had problems, as well. Drank too much, subject to mood swings. I worry Kyle may have inherited my dad's problems along with his mother's."

"You're wise to worry. It can't be discounted. There are genetic predispositions to emotional problems. What about you, Lieutenant? Any problems?"

Immediately, Horatio responded, "No. No problems at all. But this isn't about me, Doctor; it's about Kyle."

Shapiro regarded the tense man before him. Just minutes before, he had sensed that the Lieutenant was feeling more easy with him; suddenly, his expression was guarded and anxious. Shapiro had a sense of the man already: decent, concerned, responsible. But he also had a feeling his was a troubled soul. He saw it in the man's hooded blue eyes, and the way those cool eyes often slid away from his own. He'd noticed that Caine had a way of turning his head slightly away, and speaking to 'empty air' rather than directly to Shapiro. There was some buried pain here; but the Lieutenant was right. Shapiro's primary concern was Kyle Harmon; the Lieutenant's needs had to be second to that - and perhaps handled by someone else, when and if the time came.

"You're right, Lieutenant - this is about Kyle. So let's talk about what Kyle is feeling right now. I'm guessing he is experiencing problems sleeping... eating... concentrating. Any of this ringing a bell with you?"

"He isn't sleeping well," admitted Horatio. "Nightmares. Wakes up yelling sometimes. There was a boy in his platoon who lost both hands - I've heard Kyle wake up and scream out to that young man."

A darkness of feeling came over Horatio as he recalled the first time Kyle's fear-soaked voice woke him, calling out in terror to his phantom comrade, "Tony, Tony - Oh God, Tony!" In the early stages of Kyle's recovery, he had told Horatio Tony's story; it raised the hairs on the back of his neck to imagine that young, agonized boy in pitch blackness waving his arms about, crying in horror at his lost hands. And he hated that it was a memory that haunted the nights of his son.

Shapiro sighed. "A too-common experience, Lieutenant. Those damned IEDs; many a soldier is going home missing body parts due to them.

"Sir, are you familiar with Elisabeth Kubler Ross' studies on the five stages of grief?"

Horatio nodded.

"Well, the final stage is acceptance of a situation. Suppression of grief can delay acceptance of reality. Does Kyle talk about the loss of his leg with you? The resulting fears and anxieties he has? Right now, your son is probably frightened and grieving for what was... he's wondering can he perform a job? can he marry? have a normal sexual relationship? are people staring at him, pitying him? These are valid fears, and he needs to be able to speak about them. But I'm guessing that he feels he can't do so with you. After all, you're his father; he wants to be strong in front of you. You said he once told you he wanted you to be proud of the man he becomes, right? But right now, he fears being... vulnerable in front of you... losing your good opinion. He's afraid you won't be proud of him."

Horatio jumped in. "But, Doctor! I love Kyle! He's my son; his fears about his future don't alter my opinion of him."

"No? I hope that's so... but right now, he's floundering, isn't he? Drinking a bit too much? Watching TV all day. Doesn't that make you angry, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, of course it does! But not because I don't love him. It's because I don't want him to waste his life. He's bright. He can do anything he wants. I get frustrated because he doesn't see this, but that doesn't mean I don't care."

"But your frustration does come through, Lieutenant. Your son is in quicksand at the moment - battling his own demons and combating those he thinks are coming from you."

Horatio said nothing for a few minutes. Finally, he spoke. "So what do I do, Doctor? Buy him liquor, pat him on the back and say nothing?"

"Of course not. Not at all. I'm going to give you several pamphlets which I want you to read. Call me with any questions that arise from your reading. And then I want you to reach out to your son and tell him how important he is to you... and how important it is that he meet with me. Tell him about the Wounded Warriors Project."

"Wounded Warriors?"

"It's one of the services mentioned in the pamphlets you have in your hands. You tell your son about these vets who have experienced what he has... and then tell him you love him... and that he needs to get his ass in here."

"Anything else?"

"That's a pretty tall order to begin with, don't you think?" Shapiro regarded the Lieutenant kindly, weighing his words before speaking. "For your own well-being, you might want to find someone to speak to about your own difficulties."

"This is about Kyle - not me. I'm fine, Doctor," Horatio said. Shapiro noted the irritation and self-protection rising to the surface... and a little fear.

"Sure you are," he said. "But you might want to think about why the mention of your father made you so uncomfortable, Lieutenant. And keep this in mind: you can't help anyone unless you help yourself."

* * *

The young woman's long blond hair flowed gracefully from beneath the white cowgirl hat on her head; tanned, slender arms and elegant hands expertly handled the horse's reins. Instead of the riding breeches she'd worn as a girl when participating in equestrian events, faded blue jeans tucked into scuffed, cream-colored boots were today's riding apparel. Unaware of the pretty picture she made, the woman galloped happily down the riding trail, her thoughts centered pleasingly on the warm breeze hitting her face, the good smell of the lightly sweating horse beneath her, and the scent of country air tinged with a periodic whiff of horse dung. It was a good smell, a country smell, one that Lauren Chambers associated with her past, and one that never failed to comfort her during anxious times.

And Lauren was anxious - so much so that she'd chosen to knock off early from her job at PCFM that day, and take to the trails, hoping to outrun her concerns.

When Lauren had been a child, she had been horse-crazy. To please her, her doting grandfather had paid for the pony-struck child to take riding lessons at one of the horse farms outside the Baltimore area in which she grew up. Maryland was still considered 'horse country,' and horse farms were bountiful and within a short drive's distance from the area where the child lived. The eight-year old girl had taken to riding as if she'd been born with a saddle beneath her, and it wasn't long before she began to compete in children's equestrian events. Her proud grandfather had been bemused at the child's love of the sport and baffled as to where the talent for handling horses had come from - certainly no one in his blue-collar background had evinced any interest or talent with horses. But Lauren had ever been the apple of his eye, and he enjoyed her enthusiasm for the sport. She had been the grandchild most like him - passionate about politics, stubborn when it came to getting what she wanted, and generally forgiving of the weaknesses of others, tending to view human foibles with a compassionate good will that won over even the most prickly of personalities. And so he'd indulged her in the things she loved most - including the horse-riding lessons her parents never quite understood.

It was one of the kindest things the old man had ever done for the young girl. Her love of riding never abated, and throughout many troubled experiences in her life, it had been a mainstay for her. How often she had worked out thorny problems on long, solitary rides - a broken engagement, a troubled heart and other disappointments that came as a result of living with an open, trusting nature. Many times she'd relied upon the comfort of a sweet horse to keep her quiet worries and, sometimes, tears in confidence.

Expertly, Lauren gently dug her heels into the sides of the beautiful gray gelding she sat upon, easing the animal from its sprightly cantor to an easier lope as they came to the last quarter of their journey. She did it as much for herself as she did for the horse: after the brisk ride, Lauren was at an easier place in her mind and wanted to reflect a bit on why she was so worried as the horse slowed its pace.

_Horatio._

_It was always Horatio._

It had been in the back of her mind the entire time she was riding that Horatio was with the doctor who was going to (_please God!_) be Kyle's therapist. When the doctor had called Horatio yesterday and made the appointment to see him, Horatio had gone into an emotional tailspin. Not that many would realize it; as always, he kept his concerns locked tightly inside. But Lauren had realized it at once when Horatio called her, almost within minutes of finalizing the arrangements to meet with the doctor. She'd heard the guardedness in his voice, but beneath it she'd also heard an underpinning of distress. And that concerned her. And also made her feel slightly guilty.

She felt she had pushed him a bit to see the doctor. Was she wise to have done so? Her intentions had been good. She was concerned about Kyle. The young man was struggling and she worried that the situation between he and his father was fast becoming a powder keg that might go off at any time.

And what would that do to her lover? She remembered the worries that often drove Horatio during the early months of their relationship; the nightmares and worries about his son's well-being while stationed in the Kandahar Province; the fear he might not come home when an anticipated Skype session failed to materialize. She painfully recalled the terrible day Horatio had gotten word that Kyle was missing, and how he seemed to curl up within himself, shutting down from her, barely allowing her any access into his thoughts or sorrow. Most of all, she recalled the long weeks of separation as Horatio sat at his son's bedside in Washington as the young man recuperated and went through therapy.

Worst of all had been the weeks when Horatio had returned to Miami to pick up his life again while Kyle remained at Walter Reed, still undergoing rehabilitative therapy. He'd aged quite a bit during those weeks, had been short with others, and wore a haggard, worried, weary look. Much of the weariness had disappeared when Kyle returned to Miami. The truth was that the every-weekend travel to D.C. had worn Horatio down, but he wouldn't consider missing a weekend. It was one of the things that exasperated Lauren, whose own heart was often in her throat when she looked at the toll on him the weeks of travel had taken; in the end, it had only made her love him more. _Such a good man! A strong man!_

But even strong men have their limits, and Lauren knew that Horatio dreaded the discussion with Kyle's doctor. She'd gotten a brief glimpse of the reason for that fear the other night when he'd been at her home and, for the first time, had told her just a little about his family life. It had been obvious to her that he feared a psychiatrist might pick away at his defenses - that he didn't think he was ready for that.

Unlike Horatio, Lauren was an introspective person. Her own family life had been a happy one and it was difficult for someone raised with love and support to imagine what Horatio's must have been like. When she did, it made her heart ache for him. There were no locked areas in Lauren's past. Still, she recognized one of the key elements to understanding the man she loved existed somewhere within that troubled past. Whether he'd ever fully share it with her was anyone's guess, but in her heart she believed he needed to do that.

He was not the confiding sort by a long shot. Lauren had learned to listen intently to the few things he said - to listen with her heart as well as her brain because she knew that he was never going to be one to easily bare his soul. That wall he sometimes put between them when it came to what was really in his heart often confused and distressed her. _Thank God for Alexx!_

It was their mutual friend, Alexx Woods, who gave her the support and hope she had needed during the dark days of Horatio's weeks in Washington. During that dismal time, Horatio would call her, but he often came across like a polite stranger, willing her not to speak of matters that he didn't want to discuss - like why he kept her at arm's length when he obviously needed her. Not wanting to drive him away, she would allow the conversation to go the way he guided it... and then she'd hang up and try not to bawl like a baby.

Most times, she was successful.

But wise Alexx had seen through her, and one day at PCFM had taken her into a back office, embraced her and told her to go ahead and 'Let it all out, sugar.' And, boy, had she ever. After weeks of holding back, it had been a blessed relief to just let the pent-up tears loose, and after several gasping moments - moments in which she'd held onto Alexx for dear life - she had regained her composure.

Yes, thank God for Alexx, who understood Horatio and what a toll it sometimes took on Lauren to love that dear man yet deal with the distance he often and inexplicably placed between them. Alexx was her touchstone - she encouraged Lauren to hold on for her sake and Horatio's.

_'He loves you, Lauren - you know that, honey. He's a damaged man. He's had a lot of unhappiness along the way. He hasn't had cause to trust a lot of people; it's made him ... cagey ... when dealing with his emotions. That boy is a survivor; you don't get to be a survivor without making some concessions in order to cope. He copes by not thinking too closely about the past, by stepping around it and moving forward as best he can. I think you frighten him a bit... '_

_Shocked, Lauren stared through her tears at her friend. 'Me? All I want to do is love him ... take care of him.'_

_Alexx smiled and gently offered Lauren a tissue to wipe the smudged mascara from beneath her eyes. 'And he knows that ... and that's why he's scared. I'd guess he's a little threatened by all that love and concern. A little worried it might cause him to open up some of those secrets he holds so close, even unwittingly. He's a tough nut to crack, our Lieutenant. The question for you, honey, is whether you can take it. Do you want to invest the time and emotion it takes to love a man who loves you but tends to run away from you? Might be easier to love a less complicated man... and it wouldn't be a sin do so. But, Lauren, if so, make the decision now... not later. My boy has been through a lot; I don't want him to grow dependent on you - and then you make the decision it's more trouble than it's worth. I tell you that as a friend, honey - I love you both. But I don't want that man going through another heartache.'_

_Lauren met Alexx's warm brown eyes defiantly. 'I'd be a liar if I told you I hadn't sometimes wondered if loving him was worth the worries. But I'm here, aren't I? I want to be here. And I intend to be here - as long as he lets me.'_

_Alexx grinned delightedly. 'Sugar, I like the tone of your voice and the fire in your eyes just now. Good. You're gonna need both with that man. Just remember this: he loves you. Try to give him time - and space. And you need a shoulder to cry on or someone to talk to, you know where to come.'_

Lauren appreciated that. Her confidante in matters of the heart had always been her beautiful mother. But her mother was hundreds of miles away, and a phone call wasn't the same as being held when you wanted to shed a few tears. Besides, she knew her father's feelings about Horatio - he thought him too old and carrying too much baggage for his daughter. He wanted Lauren settled with someone closer to her own age and with someone who'd give her a family. Because of that, Lauren was hesitant to tell her mother about her worries; she didn't want any of it to somehow get communicated to her dad.

There had been a bright spot, though. Maybe she was getting through to him, even if just a little. The brief confession about his father... from him, that was significant. And Lauren had been encouraged when Horatio asked her if she could meet him at Gatsby's tonight. She'd been surprised by the request; she'd thought that after the session with Kyle's doctor the most she could expect was a telephone conversation with Horatio, and one that she'd probably have to initiate. So, she guessed it was something that he desired to see her and, hopefully, let her know how the session went. She hoped so, anyway.

Sighing, she gently nudged the horse toward the stall. The ride had gone by too quickly for her, but it was now 5:00, and she had to head home and dress for the evening. By now, Horatio's appointment with the therapist was well over. She sent a fleeting prayer upward that it had gone well.

Dismounting from the gelding, she gently stroked his muzzle. "Thank you, Gaston," she said lightly, gazing into the lustrous black eyes that seemed to look at her with sympathy and understanding. "I greatly enjoyed our ride, and you were quite the gentleman," she cooed, dropping a quick kiss on his muzzle. Gaston seemed to burrow his nose deeper into her hand in appreciation.

She led the animal into the barn, her eyes idly looking around at the activity within. A figure toward the end of the building caught her eye, and her brow wrinkled in concentration. _I know that woman ... but from where? Not PCFM. Do I know her from the Mayor's office?_ She didn't think so.

The woman was brushing down a large black horse, and speaking softly to it. Lauren caught a glimpse of her face in profile, especially as she brushed back a lock of short brown hair.

"Enjoy your ride, Miss?" asked the old gentleman who took Gaston's reins from her. He patted the horse's neck fondly. "Gaston's a fine horse, and he likes the expert rider. All about respect, you know. You respect him, and he'll give you respect back."

Lauren smiled at the old man. "He was wonderful as usual, Mr. Wheeler. I need to get out here at least once a week. Clears my mind!"

"Well, that's a fact. A troubled heart can always be made lighter by time spent on a good horse."

"Mr. Wheeler, that woman taking care of the black horse ... I feel like I should know her. Do you know who that is?"

Wheeler looked toward the woman and back at Lauren. "Sure. New gal that started helping out around here a few months ago. She comes out here on weekends, helps with mucking out the stalls, rubbing down the horses in exchange for boarding her own horse here. Name's Valera. So, you know her?"

_Valera_. Suddenly the name clicked for Lauren. She worked at Horatio's lab - she'd met her at a party. "I do know her. I think I'll go say hello. Thanks, Mr. Wheeler - and," she turned toward the horse, and again patted Gaston's muzzle, "thank you, gallant sir!"

Walking toward the end of the barn, Lauren smiled at the brown-haired woman who looked up at her approach.

"Miss Valera? Hello! I didn't know you were a horse enthusiast!" said Lauren.

Valera's brows drew together, and she allowed her eyes to run up and down Lauren without comment. "Do I know you?" she asked, her tone distant.

Faltering momentarily at the lack of friendliness shown by the woman, Lauren seemed at a loss for words. Finally, she said, "I'm Lauren Chambers... Horatio's friend? We met at the party given by Eric for Cinco de Mayo day. I still remember those wicked margaritas he foisted on all of us that night - certainly paid the price for those the next morning!"

The woman said nothing, regarding Lauren impassively while Lauren's conversation drifted slowly toward nothingness.

Feeling uncomfortable, Lauren finished weakly. "Well, we only spoke briefly, so perhaps you don't remember me... "

Finally, Valera smiled and held out her hand. "Now I remember! Horatio's... friend. Sorry. Too many of those... margaritas... that night, I guess."

Lauren shook the woman's hand, but noted a strange, calculating gleam behind her eyes that belied the pleasant expression on her face. _What's going on here? I don't think she remembers me at all._

"It's been nice to see you again, Miss Chambers. Hope you enjoyed your ride. Now, I've got to get back to Beauty here - she's getting kind of restless to have her brushing completed." Valera looked pointedly at Lauren, waiting for her to turn away.

Lauren was only too happy to oblige. She felt a sudden chill in the warm, late afternoon air and wasn't quite certain why. "I understand. Well ... nice seeing you ... take care."

Quickly she walked away, wanting to leave the strange woman's presence behind. Approaching her parked car, she frowned in confusion. She hadn't noticed that uncomfortable feeling the last time she'd met Maxine, but she hadn't spent much time with her. It had been a crazy evening, filled with Eric's high spirits and those potent margaritas.

Smiling to herself, she remembered Horatio laughing at her the next morning when she swore she'd never drink again. 'Hmm ... I did warn you, you know, about those 'ritas, sweetheart.'

And so he had; too bad she hadn't listened at the time. Lauren laughed to herself at the memory, and all thoughts of Valera vanished from her brain as she recalled Horatio's cure for the 'dog that bit her' - one that had nothing to do with dogs or liquor at all.

She got behind the driver's seat of her car, backed slowly out of the dirt driveway and headed back to town, her thoughts centered once again on Horatio, and her hope that the visit with Doctor Shapiro had gone well.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six - Regrets

A disgruntled feeling settled upon Horatio even before he parked his car. Driving down the street, he had spotted Julia's car sitting in his driveway and it was with dismay that he pulled alongside the vehicle. He understood the need mother and son had for one another, but with all that was going on with Kyle, he sensed the visit would be problematic. _As if the day couldn't get any worse_, he thought bleakly.

He was tired - tired as though he'd worked a physically demanding case for several hours; yet all he'd done was talk to Kyle's therapist for forty-five minutes or so. Still, he was exhausted. What he wanted to do was take a hot shower and lie down for an hour or so before meeting Lauren later in the evening. He also wanted to take a look at the pamphlets Shapiro had given him... and look in on Kyle... reassure himself that the doctor's dire statistics on suicide didn't apply to his son. In his heart, he really didn't believe that Kyle was that bad off... but did he really know? It frightened him... all the things he really didn't know about Kyle. Who knew what thoughts he might be hiding?

His heart heavy, he entered the house, dropping his keys on the table in the foyer, and listening to the muted sounds of quiet conversation coming from the living room. Bracing himself, Horatio entered the room. Julia and Kyle were sitting together on the sofa. Looking at his son, he was disappointed that the boy had the all-too-familiar can of beer in one hand as he sat in front of the television, half-heartedly watching the flickering images on the screen before him. Next to him, Julia was speaking in a low, intense voice, occasionally touching his knee. Both looked up in surprise when Horatio entered the room.

"Dad! Hi... I.. uh... thought you were meeting Lauren after work," said Kyle, an uncomfortable look on his face.

Horatio glanced at Julia, and then concentrated on Kyle. "Not until later this evening. Everything okay here?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" asked Julia, a quicksilver flash of challenge darkening her large eyes.

Horatio turned and looked at her. "So, Julia... keeping Kyle company this afternoon?" He saw that she was holding a glass, and he hazarded a quick, sideways glance at its contents, relieved to see the glass did not contain alcohol.

"Yes... which is more than you can claim. He's been alone all day... and you intended to go out? To leave him alone on a Friday night? Aren't you just the perfect father," she said, her voice low and challenging.

"Mom... please," said Kyle.

"It's true. You shouldn't have to spend your days and your evenings alone. Your father's girlfriend can do without him for an evening..."

Horatio bit back the hot retort that rose to his lips, and his blue eyes flickered coldly for a moment. With effort, he sought to control the angry words before they could bubble over.

_Where had Julia been during those lost years when he hadn't known Kyle existed? What had she been doing while her son floated through the foster care system, unloved, undisciplined? She had been dating wealthy men and running con jobs, apparently oblivious to the child's needs!_

But, as always, vague feelings of sadness and regret rose up within him as if to chastise him for his anger. She was ill. He knew that. Even with the medicine, she often operated on the level of a wounded child. It was the illness that protected her from all the things Horatio might have said - functioning like a bulletproof vest, neutralizing the anger he still experienced when he thought of the life his son had endured. But what could he say to Julia that would be meaningful? She was an injured, child-like woman - confused and irresponsible, and it seemed those qualities only grew worse with each year. And so, with difficulty, he bit back his reply and looked intently at his son.

"Kyle, you've only to say the word and I'll stay with you this evening, Son. We could go out to dinner, see a movie. Or, if you like, order take-out and stay in."

Kyle shifted in his chair, his eyes downcast. "I wouldn't want you to disappoint Lauren."

Horatio studied his son carefully. "Lauren will understand. What about it?"

"No..." Kyle said softly, "I don't really feel like going out this evening. In fact, I'm thinking about making an early night of it. Please... go ahead with your plans..." Kyle's voice drifted off.

Frustrated, Horatio stared at the young man. _Lauren's disappointment is a ruse_, he thought. _An excuse. He wants to be alone... what is he going to do? Drink all night, stare at the TV?_ His eye caught Julia's and he was struck by the look of triumph that quickly flashed across her face before she could stop it.

_She's enjoying this!_ he thought furiously. _But why? Isn't she worried about his lack of direction? Doesn't the woman have any sense at all?_

"Don't give me that look, Horatio Caine," she said softly.

"And what look is that, Julia?" he asked.

"That condemnatory, self-righteous look that you do so well. It's not my fault that our son sits in this house by himself every day... and often nights as well. But I do intend to something about it."

"Really? And what is that?

Kyle sat up suddenly. "Mom... no! Not now. This isn't the time."

Horatio tilted his head and gazed inquiringly at his son. "What's this about, Kyle? What do you want to tell me?"

Julia interrupted. "What he wants to tell you is that he's tired of living with you. Tired of being judged all the time when you don't know what he's up against. Haven't you any heart?"

"Mom, stop it! I said not now!" Kyle looked at her angrily. "This isn't the way I wanted to tell him."

Of all the things Horatio had expected to hear, this was not one of them. He experienced a quick rush of emotions - hurt, anger, confusion... fear.

"You're leaving? You want to live with your mother? Kyle, when did this come about? Son, let's talk about this." He looked pointedly at Julia. "Alone."

"Why? Do you think you're going to change his mind?" she asked. "Look at him... sad... lonely. He feels guilty all the time because you're constantly on him, pushing him, nagging him to see those people at the VA, to go back to school, to do this, do that! For God's sake, Horatio, he lost his leg! It could have been his life! You act as if he's had the flu and just needs to get over it! What he needs is understanding and patience. He needs support - not an itinerary of activities that makes _you_ feel better. This isn't about _your_ guilt!"

Miserably, Kyle looked from one parent to the other. This isn't what he wanted. All he wanted was a little space. His mother made him crazy; his father depressed him. Why couldn't they just cut him some slack? "Mom, I'm pretty tired. Why don't you go on home; I'll call you tomorrow. I want to talk with Dad."

Julia hesitated. Her heart hurt for this young man she'd so often let down... but another part of her wanted to stay and continue the confrontation with Horatio.

In some part of Julia's confused mind was the unhappy sense that her only hold on Horatio was their son... it was a tie she was reluctant to relinquish. Her relationship with her ex-lover was a bittersweet one. He was the person she could count on to bail her out of difficulties; he was always kind, even in the midst of his frustration with her during her worst moments. But instead of feelings of gratitude, she sometimes found herself almost hating him. It angered her that the reason for his kindness was more a concern for their son's well-being than any lingering passion for her. But more goading than anything was the realization that he pitied her. Pity was an ugly emotion, often accompanied by contempt. It wasn't his pity she desired.

Her feelings about Kyle were less complex. In her muddled way, Julia loved her son and wanted to ease his pain. She wanted the best for him. The difficulty lay in figuring out what that was. She had to admit that she often had trouble figuring out what the best thing was for herself, let alone another human being. She'd made a lot of bad decisions in her life - terrible decisions - some which had nearly destroyed her. In her more introspective moments, she understood that her decisions had injured her son in ways she still didn't fully comprehend. It was an ugly truth, and one she tried to avoid thinking about. It hurt too much.

Just as it hurt her to see how much the young man reminded her of Horatio.

_Horatio. _

At one point in her life, she had been wildly in love with the flamboyant John Walden. There had been something compelling about him back then, an atavistic danger that drew her. He seemed to have an edge, a total disregard for playing by the rules.

She'd met him in one of the local bars in Pensacola, a place frequented by the military men who lived on base. She'd been sitting at the bar alone, feeling depressed about one of the usual crises in her life, when a tall thin man approached her from behind. He'd leaned over her shoulder and the deep voice whispered into her ear, "Never wise for a beautiful woman to drink alone; you never know who might try to take advantage of you."

She'd looked up and found herself staring into a pair of the bluest eyes she'd ever seen. He was a dream in Technicolor - those eyes, lightly tanned skin, and bright red hair - almost too red to be believed. Tilting his head and widening those expressive eyes, he regarded her with a gentle smile. "Can I buy?" he asked, pointing toward the drink in front of her.

And so it began - a tumultuous affair that consumed them both and was as frightening as it was exhilarating. In the beginning, they couldn't get enough of each other... he'd look at her in that special way he seemed to reserve just for her, and all she'd want was to get somewhere alone with him, and eagerly run her hands up and down the smooth hardness of him, watching him gasp with pleasure.

As the affair continued, some of the danger he wore so easily seemed to slide away and what was left was a gentle, passionate man who made her feel alive and good... whole. He sensed her vulnerability and the unhappy past she never spoke of and it seemed to draw him to her. But that had never been the whole of it. No, much of it had been the electricity between them.

In the end, he became too much for her. She'd never been good at sustaining relationships. When things became too close, too good, she ran away. When it came to John, she ran away before _he_ did - because she knew, ultimately, he would. Didn't they all?

Well, as the old song went, '_regrets... I've had a few.'_ She'd been young and beautiful. Life had been exciting and there was always something new to hope for, to plan for... and lots of men with generous wallets. That's what she chose in the end, and so she just disappeared.

And when she'd discovered she was pregnant with John's child, she chose not to share the information with him. She knew him well enough at the time, alias notwithstanding, to realize that he'd never let her go if he found out about Kyle. There had always been a decency in him that disturbed Julia, that made her feel she was less the person she should have been. She could never have stayed with him, and she could never have let him know about the boy. Not sure what else to do, she'd left the toddler with her mother to raise.

Her mother! What a smart decision that had been! Half of Julia's difficulties resulted from her own upbringing. Why had she thought it would be any different for Kyle? Still, even then, traces of the illness that would haunt her for the rest of her life had begun to surface, and she had found it difficult to focus and think about what she was doing. In her manic moments, she was sure it was all for the best, that her child would thrive with a grandmother's care, that she was doing the best for him she could, that life was wonderful and exciting and she was young and the world was hers! Out of those manic memories was a hazy recollection of the two-year old crying and clinging to her knees as she readied to leave him behind, and she remembered kneeling down and hugging him tightly and whispering in his ear the promise to return for him when things were better.

In her darker moments she faced the reality of the mess she'd made of her life... and her child's... and the truth of it often threatened to overcome her. Better not to think too deeply about the past.

_'Regrets... I've had a few...'_

Maybe more than just a few...

Looking at her son now, her unrealistic heart convinced her that she now had an opportunity to make up for the past and - finally - be the mother she had never been. She could take care of her injured boy. She'd take him to her home, comfort him... give him the understanding he needed. Yes, take him away from the harsh self-righteousness of his father. What had happened to John that he'd morphed into this cold, judgmental man? She'd never force the boy to do things he didn't want to do, things that caused him such anguish and distress. She'd stand up to Horatio - and a dark, twisted part of her heart admitted that she'd enjoy doing so.

Ignoring the anger radiating from Horatio, she leaned over to Kyle and kissed his cheek. "You sure you want me to go, baby? We can get you packed up tonight, if you're ready."

Feeling his father's eyes boring into him, Kyle replied, "No, mom, please... go home. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

Hugging him tightly, she whispered, "Okay, baby. Don't worry. Don't let your father upset you; it's going to be fine once you're home with me. Hold on to that thought."

Julia stood up, picked up her purse and headed toward the door, only to have Horatio firmly take her arm. "Julia, I'll walk you out to the car." Uneasily, Kyle watched the two of them leave, and reached for the can of beer sitting on the coffee table. It was empty.

Once outside the house, Horatio whispered coldly, "What are you doing, Julia? Don't you understand Kyle is in a bad place right now? He's depressed and without direction. I hope you're not using him in order to satisfy your own needs. What can you be thinking, encouraging him to move in with you?"

"He's lived with me before..." she began, only to be interrupted by Horatio.

"Yes, and look how well that turned out!"

"You're being unfair! He's my son... I want to help him. He needs help."

"Yes, he does need help. But moving in with you is not going to provide it. I don't say this to hurt you... but, for the love of God! You can barely take care of yourself!"

Julia's beautiful eyes suddenly filmed with moisture. "You're a cruel man... how did you get this way?"

Horatio paused. He was angry. He knew this wasn't the way to handle Julia, but this whole moving in thing had hit him by surprise, and it worried him. He didn't want to see Kyle living his life as Julia's pampered pet. She would allow him to sit in that big house, drink all day (_or worse?_), and feel sorry for himself. He didn't want that for his son.

Maybe he was too tough on Kyle; Art Shapiro had implied as much. Well, he could work on that - and he would. But he'd never give up encouraging Kyle to get his life back. And living with Julia was not the way to accomplish that.

Horatio looked away from the woman standing in front of him, unable to bear the wounded look she was giving him, and instead studied his house as if he were seeing it for the first time. As he struggled to get his emotions under control, he heard her say quietly, "You know, I love him, too."

Finally, he looked at her. Something in her confused expression caused his anger to dissipate, and he replied softly, "Then love him enough to do the right thing. This isn't about you... or me. It's about him.

"You've got your own problems, Julia. This... this move is a bad idea for so many reasons. Do the right thing - for Kyle's sake."

She turned away and opened the door to her car. "You just don't get it. I _am_ doing this for Kyle's sake. He needs his mother."

His thoughts troubled, Horatio continued to stare at his house as Julia drove away. After several minutes, he pulled out his cell phone and punched in the familiar number.

"Lauren... look, I can't make it this evening..."

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven - Heaven and Earth

Horatio entered the kitchen and silently watched as Kyle balanced himself on one crutch. The boy was bent over and digging around inside the refrigerator with his free hand. On the nearby counter were various items that he had removed and stacked precariously. As Horatio watched his son, a vague feeling of unease settled over him. There was something disturbingly familiar about what he was seeing, but Horatio couldn't put it in context.

Suddenly, Kyle straightened up and turned toward him, a kitchen towel in his hand and a resigned look on his face.

"I, uh, spilled something inside the 'fridge," he said, "getting something to drink... knocked it over. Thought I'd clean up the mess."

Horatio's eyes slid over to the spilled container - a Coke can. Kyle caught his father's relieved look and a sarcastic smile appeared on his face, one that made him look older than he was. "I was fixing a Coke, Dad. Just a Coke."

"Did I say anything, Kyle?" he asked patiently.

Kyle turned back toward the refrigerator. "You didn't need to - your eyes said it."

Horatio looked away briefly, feeling guilty. _Was he too hard on Kyle?_ Gazing at his son's back as he leaned into the refrigerator to mop up the mess, Horatio felt a sudden rush of love and protectiveness. _He looks so damned vulnerable... just like... like..._

Again the half-formed memory drifted away. He couldn't quite hold onto it, bring it into focus.

"Kyle, let that go for the moment. Please sit down. I want to talk with you."

"Your plans for tonight..." began Kyle.

"Have changed," interrupted Horatio. "Sit down, okay?"

Kyle wondered briefly if he was about to be interrogated like one of his father's suspects. It was a prospect he didn't relish.

He loved his father, but he also found him intimidating. No one in the military ever managed to intimidate him the way his dad did. All it took was one look from those intense blue eyes, and Kyle felt like the guilty sixteen-year old he had been when he first learned Horatio was his father. It was worse now... now he feared seeing disillusionment in those eyes, the sort of disillusionment that would come from realizing his son was not the man his father was.

Kyle's thoughts about his father veered toward hero worship. He had watched his father handle crises with aplomb, always in control of every situation. So unlike his son who found himself struggling with the new realities of his life. He wasn't strong like his father; how could he expect Horatio to understand? His dad's opinion was, perhaps, too important to him; nevertheless, it worried him that Horatio might view him with disappointment. Sadly, the boy suspected he was more like his mother: weak and unable to deal with challenges. Horatio Caine was tough; he was impervious to the struggles life threw his way. _God! How he hated the idea of seeing disappointment in his dad's eyes! Better to go away and live with his mother than see that every time he looked at him!_

But when Kyle slowly straightened up and looked into his father's face, it wasn't disappointment he saw reflected there; instead, he was surprised to see a look of vulnerability. Never before had he glimpsed vulnerability on Horatio's face - or the naked need that flickered briefly, and tellingly, in the man's usually wary eyes. _Was that look for him?_ Did his dad actually need him? It was a new thought for Kyle who considered his father a loner - someone who, at times, seemed almost unapproachable. The warm, troubled look in Horatio's eyes disarmed the young man, and he put down the towel he'd been holding and hobbled toward the table, easing himself into the chair across from his father.

Horatio smiled. "Good. Now, let's talk openly about this move to your mother's, okay? Let's reason it out, and see if you still think it's a good idea after we've gone over the pros and cons."

His son nodded slowly... and with his left hand, he suddenly brushed back the lock of sandy blond hair that had fallen over one eye, and then rubbed his jaw absently.

It was then that the memory Horatio had been reaching for crystallized.

* * *

_It was a gloomy New York evening. The icy drizzle pelted the shabby streets of Brooklyn and the night's bone-aching coldness signaled the early start of another dreary winter._

_The steel mill had given notice to its workers earlier that day of an immediate shutdown due to lack of work. Angry and frightened, Daniel Caine had spent most of the afternoon and early evening at the local tavern, drinking with the other worried, unemployed men. As the drinking escalated, so, too, did the complaints about the union, the bosses, the shit-ass direction the country was headed in. It was Daniel's usual routine after a company layoff - and one that worried his wife and created anxiety in his eldest son. Katie and the boy always viewed layoffs with trepidation; lack of work left the brooding Daniel with too much time for drinking and getting himself worked up about his lot in life._

_By the time he had gotten back to the tiny, drab house on Connor Street, Daniel was in an ugly mood, worried how long he'd be out of work this time, and how many weeks before his money ran out. He thought about his wife and two kids and fretted over how he was going to make ends meet. He often wondered why he'd let himself get locked into this mess; family life was not for one such as he. It demanded too much of him... sometimes he thought he would choke on the responsibility of it._

_Looking up at the somber, starless sky, he found himself missing his former country and the beloved, argumentative brothers he had left behind. How he missed Ireland and the life he once had! The sadness of it filled him with a terrible and bitter grief; still, he could never go back... he had burned that bridge thanks to his black temper. And so here he was, living in America. America - 'land of opportunity.' Maybe for some; for him, it had turned out to be a trap, ever ready to spring shut._

_Morosely, he stumbled up the slippery stairs leading to the house, trying to navigate the steps with the uncertain precision of a practiced drunk._

_Entering the small kitchen, he saw his nine-year old son sitting at the table, studying his schoolbooks. A brief smile flitted across Daniel's face as he walked past the boy, touching his bright red hair - the same red hair that his own Da had sported before it had turned to silver. God, how he missed the man! Looking at his son, Daniel saw his own wary blue eyes staring back at him._

_"Hi Daddy," said the boy, a cautious smile on his face. With dismay, the child caught the scent of stale cigarettes and cheap rye whiskey emanating from his father. It was a scent that young as he was, he had come to associate with fear and violence._

_Looking at the boy, Daniel swayed a bit and attempted to keep his balance. "And would you be doin' your homework now, Horatio?" he asked, his Irish brogue more pronounced when he was drunk than sober. "It's a good man you are... and doin' a good job._

_"Don't want to wind up in a steel mill... workin' like a slave, then locked out of the building... wondering when there'll be another paycheck... worried the union bastards and fuckin' management are workin' together to stick it to you. Keep doin' your homework, my little man."_

_Heavily, he dropped into the chair across from Horatio, noticing for the first time that the child's high-chair in the corner of the kitchen was empty. "Where's your brother, boyo?"_

_"Sleeping... he's not feeling well. Ma put him down. He's been screamin' a lot; Ma thinks he may need to see the doctor - maybe has an ear infection."_

_'Jesus, Mary and Joseph!' thought Daniel bitterly. 'No money comin' in and the damned kid picks this time to be gettin' an ear infection.'_

_"Katie," he yelled, "Can we be gettin' a little dinner out here, if you please? It's almost 8:00, for God's sake. Horatio's out here doin' his homework - did you feed the boy?"_

_"Daddy, please... we ate already. We ate around six. Ma's with Ray." Horatio felt a familiar tension starting to curl inside his small body, an anxiety that always occurred when his father drank too much. "Ma made stew and it's warming on the stove; we got rolls, too. I'll spoon up some of the stew for you. Just relax, Daddy; everything's okay."_

_Daniel yawned, then rubbed his bleary eyes. "Okay, little man. Be doin' your Da a favor - bring me a beer... it's thirsty, I am."_

_The boy's heart sank at the request, but to argue would make his father angry and produce a quick smack alongside his head, so he walked into the kitchen, grabbed a bottle, and then handed it to his father. The man snapped off the cap and took a deep draught of the icy liquid, contemplating his son as he went about preparing his father's meal. _

_'He's a good kid,' thought Daniel. A shudder went through him as he thought of the times his temper got the best of him and he would slap the boy for some imagined transgression. It made him want to cry, especially when he saw his son - the image of his own sweet Da, for God's sake! - look at him with mingled fear and love._

_"Hey, little man." Horatio turned and looked at his father. "You know your Da loves you, right?"_

_Quietly, the nine-year old boy looked at him with eyes that were both sad and wise beyond their years. He had been through this with his dad before - the momentary lapses into guilt and the easy sentimentality brought on by liquor. "Yeah, I know, Daddy."_

_"T'is a good little man you are." Daniel sank into a melancholy sadness and began to eat the stew Horatio placed before him. After a while, Katie entered the room. She looked tired and upset._

_"Danny, I'm worried about Raymond. He's so hot, and he's been crying all afternoon. I think his ear hurts; he keeps pawing at it. He needs to see the doctor."_

_"Christ, Katie, I just got home. Can you be givin' me five minutes of peace before you start on me about doctors and sick kids?"_

_Unobtrusively, Horatio quietly gathered up his schoolbooks and walked softly into Ray's dimly lit room. He looked at the two-year old sleeping fitfully in his crib, a tiny hand flailing restlessly about his ear. The child was sweaty, and his little face was mottled with redness. It made Horatio sad to see him so, but the baby's restlessness scared him as well. What if he started crying while Daddy was trying to relax?_

_"Poor little man," softly crooned the nine-year old. "You just sleep... keep quiet, okay? Daddy's in a mean mood tonight, so you be good. You're a good little man... good job." Slowly, Horatio's body sank down to the floor, his small back brushing up against the crib as he did so. He pulled a tiny flashlight out of his pocket and turned it on, focusing on his schoolwork, trying to ignore the tense voices coming from the kitchen._

_But it was hard to do... they just kept getting louder... his mother's voice angry and frightened, his father's rough and on edge. Finally, his mother began to cry, and Horatio heard a crack and then, in short succession, another - the telltale sounds of skin hitting skin - hard!_

_And then, an eerie silence... silence that was undisturbed for several seconds until at last the young boy heard his father's heavy, unsure gait walking across the hardwood floor. Horatio tensely waited for the sound that always followed - the explosive noise the door made as it opened and slammed shut. And then he heard it. He was gone! Thank God - he was gone! Probably back to the tavern._

_Holding his breath, afraid to breathe, Horatio continued to sit by the crib, listening anxiously to the fitful stirrings of his little brother. Finally, he heard the soft keening of his mother's tear-clogged voice: she wished she had never married, wished she were still a young girl living with her parents, wished she could escape and leave it all behind. It terrified the listening boy and his heart beat painfully._

_Didn't his mother love him? Would she leave? What would happen to him and Raymond?_

_How he hated having to listen to his mother crying! Dropping the small flashlight, the little boy quickly fisted his hands and shoved them tightly against his ears. He squeezed his eyes closed and began tunelessly humming an old nursery song, urgently trying to muffle the sounds of despair coming from the kitchen. In an effort to comfort himself, his small body slowly rocked back and forth... back and forth... waiting for the storm around him to end._

_After some time had passed, he wiped away the tears that had made their way down his strained, white face. Gathering his courage, he stood up and walked quietly into the kitchen._

_His mother was doing what she always did after one of the brief, violent episodes with his father: she was cleaning. Even at that young age, Horatio understood that mindless labor was his mother's way of coping with the harsh reality of her life. She would work, and work hard, until she was bone-tired, cried-out and exhausted, and then she would fall into bed and put the day behind her._

_He watched as her frail figure moved toward the old, used refrigerator, intent on defrosting its ancient freezer. Methodically, she removed expired, ice-encrusted items from the freezer, tossing them onto the nearby counter. She then moved over to the stove where a big pan of boiling water sat. She grabbed the kitchen towel and wrapped it about the handle of the pan, and gingerly lifted it and stuck it inside the freezer, watching as the hot steam drifted about the built-up chunks of frost, slowly melting them. She sighed deeply. As she began the task of discarding the old items pulled from the freezer, she felt her son's eyes upon her, and she suddenly stopped and looked at the boy. In that moment, Horatio saw the harsh bruise beginning to color the left side of her face and the little bits of dried blood crusted in the corner of her mouth, and the child experienced a feeling of hopeless despair..._

_... The despair of knowing that the next morning his father would come home, and he would be wearing a penitent look on the face that had been so filled with rage the night before. He would have some sort of peace offering for his wife; he would ruffle Horatio's hair in a remorseful show of cheap sentimentality; and he would take Raymond to the doctor, not because they had the money, but because he would feel guilty for this night. Always the same story. Things never changed in the Caine household._

_His voice choked, Horatio asked, "Ma? Are you okay?"_

_Katie tilted her head as she studied her son. "Ah, Horatio... what do you think?" Her thoughts troubled, she brushed back the blond hair that fell across the bruised side of her face and rubbed the ache near her lower jaw. Seeing the look her actions had on the frightened child, she forced a smile. "Never mind. Things are fine. Be a good little man... check on your brother, would you?"_

_Horatio nodded, his small shoulders slumped forward like those of an elderly man who had too often experienced defeat. He headed toward his little brother's room, and heard his mother say softly, "Good little man... "_

* * *

"Dad? Dad, are you okay?"

Horatio looked up at Kyle's urgent prompting, startled surprise written across his face. The old memory had come to him so vividly and with such force, that Horatio had forgotten himself in the remembering of it. He rubbed his eyes and then pinched the bridge of his nose, forcing the memory back where it belonged - in the past. "I'm fine, Kyle. Just an old memory... caught me off-guard for a moment."

Kyle looked at him doubtfully. "You don't look so good." This was true. A look of suffering had passed over his father's pale face for several seconds, and seeing it had shaken Kyle. _Surely, he was not the cause of that suffering... this whole thing with the move to his mother's. He didn't want to hurt his father._

Horatio saw the concern and confusion on Kyle's face, and he quickly gained control of himself. "I'm fine, Son."

Kyle regarded his father with uncertainty. "Do you want to talk about that... memory... you just had?"

"Nope," said Horatio decisively. "No, I don't. What I want to talk about is you. And I want to start by making one thing clear.

"No matter what you may think about me... always remember this: you're my son. And I will move heaven and earth for you. If I haven't made that clear, I'm sorry. I... well, I'm afraid I haven't had much training in how to be a good father. Can't say my old man was much of a role model. So... be patient with me, okay?

"But never doubt this: I love you, Kyle. I'm proud of you - of the things you've overcome in your past, of the courage it took for you to enlist, of your service to your country - and of the man I see you capable of becoming. And, Son, remember - you and me... we're in this together. We both have some hurdles to get over... but, together, we'll figure it out. We'll get it straight. I promise."

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight - Equations

_Her head! God, how her head ached. Why was it always this way? Why was there no lasting relief?_

_Round and round it went... never ending... that grating tune from childhood... its singsong melody and nonsensical lyrics as agonizing to her as a jagged piece of glass embedded in flesh. The relentless internal music that made her feel like she was going mad! Slowly, she felt the threatening, familiar tension begin to coil deep within her brain - an old serpent who had been lying in sinister repose... waiting quietly with evil intent for its opportunity to strike. Soon would come the fireworks behind the fiercely closed eyelids. Even now... even now she could see them beginning. Flashes of light! Blinding light! _

_Silently, desperate tears began to leak from the inner corners of the closed lids; salty tears that felt like warm, sticky blood seeping from a wound that refused to heal. _

_Not again. Not yet._

_So soon... Too soon! _

_The flashes of harsh light flickered behind the wounded eyes, creating fractured arcs of brilliant color. Soon would come the pain... the twitchy pain... the pain that made her feel like she wanted to jump outside of her skin. That's the way these things began: first the tune, then the colors, and then the torment._

_She restlessly moved about the bed, unable to find peace, willing the repetitious tune in her brain to cease... trying to ignore the flashing lights... the tension... agony. Futile. It was futile. She knew that. Why fight it? It would have its way with her; it always did._

_She'd been down this road so many times. She knew the song and lights and trembling would continue to build until they reached a terrible crescendo, forcing her - finally - toward resolution. The pain would not be denied; its presence was a leitmotif of torment, ever threading itself throughout her existence. Soon she would be forced to seek the outlet that always worked... that provided temporary solace. Peace. Blessed silence. In her mind, two words formed in ragged, bleeding colors: "The Remedy."_

_There was a time when she'd been forced to... quiet the song... to remedy matters... but only very occasionally, and "The Remedy" was enough to provide peace for months and months. Wonderful, quiet months. Free of tension and that terrible anxiety that made her skin feel as if frantic ants were just beneath its surface. Temporary freedom from the blinding, killer lights. _

_She had even experienced a respite of several years from the need to... resort... to "The Remedy"... even believed the need to exact revenge had left her. That was the period she always remembered as "The Hopeful Days."_

_She'd been lucky prior to "The Hopeful Days." Lucky and smart. She had found it easier to be careful. She had been strong. Cagey. Love hadn't yet made her vulnerable. Weak. Needy. She'd managed to keep the pressure from building too quickly - and when it did, she'd think her options through carefully. She was analytical. Methodical. She was good at figuring out how to do what needed to be done and not get caught. And the end result - "The Remedy" - always made her feel better. Better? Well, maybe not better. It gave her peace. "The Remedy" equaled "Peace." It was an equation. A formula. Like one plus one equals two. She had always liked mathematics. Numbers were safe; predictable. You plugged in the numbers, and you knew what you would get. _

_But, then, something unexpected happened to her. Something that weakened her. Something that didn't equate._

_Something... good? It seemed so at the time. He had come into her life... so strong... so... decent. He seemed to look into her troubled eyes and see something unsoiled... some sort of cleanliness she never believed could exist alongside the darkness that ruled her. He never suspected that she had a terrible equation hiding within. Never would have believed it of her. It gave her hope. It was the beginning of "The Hopeful Days." _

_Too soon, it was over. He moved on. Had he really ever seen her? Who she really was? Had it all been in her head?_

_Still, she couldn't hate him; he was... good. Too good for her. Once she saw things for what they were - once "The Hopeful Days" were over - all the terror and self-loathing came back, stronger than ever, rushing forcefully toward her like water damned up too long. Her hopes laughed at her... amused voices ridiculing her dreams... male voices that she heard in the quiet of the night: "Thought you'd escaped, didn't you? Didn't you? You can't escape! You belong to us! With us!" And the tune would begin again... the tension... the lights... the pain. And it would be time again for "The Remedy."_

_Equations. Formulas. "The Remedy" equaled "Justice." An eye for an eye. The righting of past wrongs... so many past wrongs._

_The past was never really behind you. Only fools and theologians believed that. She knew better. She was smart. Analytical._

_Her fisted hands suddenly pounded either side of her forehead, trying to still the children's song that began to rattle with louder insistence:_

_'Hush little baby,don't say a word_

_Papa's gonna buy you a mocking bird_

_And if that mocking bird won't sing_

_Papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring'_

_Costume jewelry made of paste... toys within cereal boxes. Are velvet boxes any better? It's all the same. Something for nothing. Nothing? Be nice to Papa, little girl! You can call me "Papa"... shhh... hush... shhh..._

_Bitterly, she considered the men who thought they chose her in the darkness of night. She was the one who did the choosing. Now. _

_Hush little baby... shhh._

_They were all alike. All of them. Taking, hurting, using. So fine, so upstanding... dirty, nasty old men hiding behind their expensive suits, fine cologne, richly scented tobacco and important business cards. They liked what she had, wanted it. Took it. Stole it. Something for nothing._

_A moan escaped her lips as the voices in her head continued the persistent, painful singsong. It was a call to war. A call for retribution. She knew she should wait a few weeks... be smart... let things die down. She used to be smart. Analytical. Timing the equation._

_But the pain was so great... the need too intense. It hurt so much. Overwhelming. Tonight. It had to be tonight._

_Peaceful resignation descended over her once the decision had been made. The song's intensity lessened. "The Remedy" equaled "Peace."_

_Rest... just a few hours of rest. That's what she needed. The evening was young. Plenty of time. _

_Her last few thoughts before drifting off to sleep was of the outfit buried deep within her closet... the one she would later put on... her special outfit... and then she'd go looking for him. _

_There was always a him, someone waiting just for her, wanting what only she had to offer. Wanting a little girl to play his nasty little games. Well, she'd play. She was good at nasty games. She'd been taught well._

* * *

_The next day..._

The insistent vibration of the phone resting on the nightstand finally awakened Horatio. Still half-asleep, he reached for it, his bleary eyes noticing the time on the nearby digital clock. _Twelve-fifteen! Past noon already!_

"Horatio Caine," he said roughly, his voice still clogged with sleep.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty... thinking about getting up today?"

"Frank?"

"BINGO. You're pretty sharp for an old guy who sounds like he just woke up."

Slowly, Horatio sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Pushing back the hair hanging haphazardly over his eyes, he cleared his throat heavily. "Give me a minute, Frank. I was up pretty late last night."

"Really? And how _is_ the lovely Lauren?" asked Frank, a knowing laughter edging his voice.

"Don't be a smart ass, Detective," Horatio replied grumpily. "What's up?"

"I'm at the Excelsior Hotel... got a call-out late this morning. Room Service discovered a dead male in one of the luxury suites; white guy; middle-aged. Loman's little protege is here... what's her name? Betsy Banks?"

"Becki, I think... and I don't think she'd much like hearing you call her 'little' - or 'protege' for that matter. She's a doctor, Frank."

"Whatever... didn't mean anything by it. Anyway, you coming?"

"Frank... it's Saturday. Why isn't the weekend shift handling this?"

"Well, they could... but I think you'll want to be here. The MO is the same as the body found in the park last week... burns, an injection site, apparent use of a paralytic agent."

Horatio sat up straighter, the last remnants of sleep disappearing from his eyes.

"You're saying this is the work of..."

"It's the Bobbysox Killer, we think. That's why I was called in. Banks says there is something lodged in the vic's throat... I think you and me can figure out what that 'something' is. You want to be here?"

"Of course. Give me thirty minutes," he replied, and terminated the call.

Quickly, Horatio considered calling Lauren. He still felt badly about breaking their date the night before, even though she had seemed to understand. Most of all, he wanted to fill her in on his conversation with Kyle, which, after a bumpy start, had gone better than he had expected. He and his son had been up talking most of the night, and when they'd concluded, it had been too late to call Lauren... and he had been so tired. Looking again at the clock, he realized he really didn't have time for a phone conversation, no matter how abbreviated. He'd call her later, after he and Frank finished surveying the crime scene.

* * *

The body was in the bedroom, laying on top of the thick, luxurious comforter. Horatio looked briefly about the room. The best the hotel offered. Part of a nicely appointed suite.

Turning his attention again toward the body, he noted the similarity between it and the one discovered several days ago in the park: middle-aged; white; telltale marks of cigarette burns scattered across parts of the body; eyes wide-open, glassy. Terrorized. And slight bruising where a hypodermic needle had been employed.

There were a few differences. The head and upper torso rested on several large pillows (better to view his tormentor's actions?). The hands and legs had been secured by towels to the bedposts on either side of him, the body spread eagled. And completely nude... well, not completely; an expensive silk tie encircled the neck, expertly and handsomely knotted. Incongruous. Just that tie... no other article of clothing.

The position of the body indicated consensual submission... at least in the beginning. It was easy to see the victim had been a tall, beefy man, seemingly able to defend himself. So the victim must have initially submitted to the perpetrator. _Why? Was there trust involved? Sex games that turned very bad, very fast? The victim's underestimation of a partner who appeared weaker, pliant? Had he been seduced into a captive position, failing to comprehend the danger until it was too late?_

The doctor interrupted Horatio's thoughts. "Ready, Lieutenant?" asked Becki.

Horatio nodded.

She pried open the dead man's mouth and inserted the small forceps into his windpipe, gently withdrawing the object lodged deep within. Frank and Horatio looked at one another without surprise.

Another child's sock.

Horatio turned his attention to the weekend crew as they worked the crime scene. "Ladies," he asked the two female CSIs, "anything interesting?"

"Not at first sight, Lieutenant... it's surprising. Such a clean crime scene. No obvious prints, no hair, no footprints. No blood."

"Frank, you said Room Service discovered the body?"

Frank looked at his notes. "Yeah. Vic had a standing order during his stay for a copy of the New York Times, coffee, toast and a Bloody Mary nine o'clock each morning. Room Service was instructed to knock twice, then enter the suite and set up the tray. The guy from Room Service, kid named Reginald Hayes, always exchanged a few words with the vic while setting up the tray. This morning he let himself into the suite after knocking, but the silence in the room gave him a hinky feeling. He called out to the vic several times and got no answer. He was about to leave the room, but said he had a sixth-sense that something was up... so he entered the bedroom and found our boy, here."

Horatio nodded. _Must have been quite a sight for the kid._ He turned his attention to the Medical Examiner.

"Dr. Banks, anything under those fingernails that might help us?"

Becki looked up briefly and shook her head with regret. "I'll do a thorough exam back at the morgue. Nothing visible at present."

"Damn," said Frank, under his breath.

"What about use of the... uh... what's the name of the agent?"

"Sux? Well, that is what I'm thinking," replied Becki. "We can excise the brain tissue and confirm yes or no. This should make Tom's day when I call him."

"No doubt," remarked Horatio drily. "I'm surprised he isn't here."

"Tennis date," said Becki with a mischievous wink. "But once he hears about the new victim and his possible tie-in with the Sux murder victim, he'll come bounding into the autopsy room, tennis racket in hand, if need be. And who can blame him? How exciting!"

Frank leaned toward Horatio and under his breath muttered, "I can see the attraction between these two... they're both a couple of ghouls."

Horatio fought to hold back the amused smile that threatened to lighten his grim expression. Inwardly, he had to admit he found the doctors' enthusiasm for gruesome crime scenes entertaining on some level.

Giving up the battle, Horatio smiled. "So, Francis, shall we speak to the man at the front desk?"

A soft wolf whistle escaped Frank's lips. "'Man?' You're in for a surprise, Horatio... wait until you see this 'guy.'"

Indeed, the 'man' at the front desk did turn out to be a surprise. 'He' was a 'she' - Ms. Blandine L'Engle, in fact, and she did more than 'man' the front desk. She was the Executive Manager of the Excelsior. Frank's eyes ran appreciatively up and down all six feet of the tall, striking woman. Her voluptuous figure was sheathed tightly in expensive black silk. The dress's hemline stopped abruptly at her upper thighs, exposing long, elegant legs and feet enclosed in strapped, scarlet red sandals with four inch heels. Frank noticed the lady's toenails matched the scarlet color of her shoes. On a lesser woman, the overall look would have been tawdry and obvious. On Ms. L'Engle, it was provocative and elegant. She had the carriage and self-possession of a queen.

Watching her converse with several patrons at the front desk, Frank asked Horatio, "She remind you of anyone?"

Horatio considered. "No... should she?"

"Tall, stacked, Amazonian woman... imagine dark blue satin panties with little white stars on them, and a red and gold bustier... and solid gold arm cuffs. Ring a bell?"

Horatio stared blankly at Frank.

In irritation, Frank exclaimed, "Geez, Horatio... she looks like 'Wonder Woman.' Remember the old comic book? The old TV show? Lynda Carter?"

Horatio shrugged. "Vaguely, Frank. Seems to have left a vivid impression on you, however."

"Yeah... well, I used to have it bad for Lynda Carter when I was a kid. Man, the dreams I used to have of that woman in that costume... This broad could be her twin sister."

Horatio shook his head. Frank's obsession with pop culture often eluded him. Wonder Woman? Several months ago, it had been some woman hosting a late night horror show that caught his eye - Countess Von Helsing, played by some actress whose claim to fame was wearing a long, black velvet dress with a plunging neckline displaying two very large... assets.

During a break in her conversation, the tall woman turned their way and looked appraisingly at them. Her candid gaze seemed to casually dismiss Frank, but her eyes gleamed with sudden interest when they settled on the man with the flaming red hair. Quickly, she concluded her business with the people at the front desk, and then turned and walked gracefully toward the two law enforcement officers, the scent of her crisp, almost manly, perfume greeting them before she did.

"Gentlemen," she said in charming, lightly accented English, "I am Blandine L'Engle. I manage the Excelsior. Shall we adjourn to my office in the back, please? I don't think this is a discussion I care to have in front of the Excelsior's patrons."

Once they were seated in L'Engle's office, Horatio asked, "You are French, Ms. L'Engle?"

"I am. Does that have anything to do with this discussion?" she asked, her Gallic pragmatism challenging him.

Smiling, Horatio replied, "No... not at all. Just curious... pretty French name... pretty accent."

She smiled. "Let us get down to business, gentlemen. You have questions about Mr. Christensen?"

"Christensen?" asked Frank. "That the name of our gentleman in Room 1204?"

"It is. Joseph Christensen. He is... was... one of our regular patrons. Stayed here about five, maybe six times a year. And, Detective... he was, as you put it, a 'gentleman.' Very generous. Very private. Very grateful for any services rendered."

"Did you see him go out last night," asked Frank, "come back later with someone?"

"No... I do not babysit our guests, Detective. They come, they go. It is not our business."

"Any surveillance equipment?"

"Yes... in the lobby near the front desk. And outside, of course, near the entrance."

"We're going to want to take a look at the videos, ma'am," said Frank.

She elegantly shrugged her shoulders. "Of course. As you wish."

"Ms. L'Engle," said Horatio, "what else can you tell us about Mr. Christensen?"

Blandine tilted her head, gazing frankly at the red-haired man, seeming to take in the entirety of him for the first time... she liked what she saw: a strong, interesting face. She sensed an intriguing backstory there. Fleetingly, an amused look appeared on her own beautiful face and she leaned in close to the Lieutenant. "He always came alone, always on business, no wife ever accompanied him. I do not know if he was married or not... but he was... how do you say? ... 'entranced' by a certain sort of girl. He was not a lonely man when he stayed here. On the contrary."

"He brought girls to the hotel?" asked Frank.

"No... I think... the girls, they came to him."

"Escort service?" asked Horatio.

"Perhaps," she replied, again shrugging her shoulders. "It is not my job to pry. Let us say that he was a man who enjoyed feminine company."

Frank frowned. "He see a lot of women in his room?"

"Who knows, Detective? As I say, it was his business. It is an old equation: powerful men and ambitious women... the ancient mathematics of sexual fulfillment. The wise man or woman knows this, accepts it... looks the other way. You Americans... you are so... puritanical and yet so curious about the dance between the sexes. Better to live and let live... look the other way."

"So, what sort of gal 'entranced' him?" Frank asked, still frowning. He was beginning to dislike this Lynda Carter look-alike.

"Young girls. Very young."

"How young?"

"Legal age... role-playing, I think. Not a big deal. The art of fantasy is appreciated in France. We do not judge."

"Did you ever see him with one of these girls, Ms. L'Engle?" asked Horatio.

Blandine paused before answering, studying the two detectives. Would they make trouble for her hotel? She doubted the tall, balding man would; he seemed gauche but realistic. The other... the attractive one... seemed too intense... a bit too righteous. He seemed to be studying her in a way that was distastefully familiar to her... ah, yes! It was the way she and her schoolmates had studied the dissected remains of the frogs and small rodents in her biology classes in the little town she grew up in outside of Paris. The thought brought a frown to her face. In spite of the attractive packaging, the Lieutenant made her uncomfortable. Was it better to be truthful or dissemble? She couldn't decide.

As if reading her mind, the red-head smiled ingratiatingly. "Ms. L'Engle, you've nothing to fear from us. We just want the facts about Mr. Christensen. We've a murder to solve... and other lives may be at risk. Please help us."

After some hesitation, the woman replied. "One of the women he often entertained... her name was 'Bliss.' She... ah, she worked for a service."

"I see. Can you put us in touch with her?"

"You can't think she had anything to do with Mr. Christensen's death! She was a favorite of his... I am sure she wasn't involved."

Frank pulled out his pad. "We just want to speak with the lady... get a little more information on the victim's 'type' of woman. You know, the type of gal who 'entranced' him," he finished sarcastically.

"I don't have any contact information for Bliss. My hotel was not involved... we look the other way. It is not our business. But one hears things, you understand." She looked intently at Horatio. "Only hears things, Lieutenant."

"And what have you heard, Ms. L'Engle?"

"...That Mademoiselle Bliss worked for Madame Faraday."

Horatio and Frank looked at each other. Eleanor Faraday. The Gold Coast Madam, well-known along the Atlantic coast of the Sunshine State for her 'elegant ladies' and feared for her political connections. It was rumored that she had a book whose cover was made of 24 carat gold leaf in which the names of many of the country's captains of industry were recorded. Clients. Quietly advertised by word of mouth as a 'refined escort service' for wealthy men in town on business, Eleanor Faraday's operation had grown quickly over the years and her specialty was providing men of means with companions for dinner or conversation, but nothing more. That was the story, anyway. Yet, the underlying stench of it had long been a matter of consternation in PD Headquarters up and down the coast. Eleanor Faraday!

Quickly, Blandine sought to distance herself from the revelation and protect the Excelsior. "Again, it is only hearsay. I do not know for certain. It is not our - "

"Yeah, yeah, we know," interrupted Frank sarcastically, "it is not your business to pry."

The woman glared at him.

"We understand, Ms. L'Engle," Horatio said, rising from his seat. "Thank you for your time."

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine - Heart to Hearts

Horatio and Frank stood in front of Frank's parked car, looking at the hotel, and wrapping up their thoughts concerning the conversation with Blandine L'Engle.

"What do you think, Horatio? You think Wonder Woman has any information she's not sharing?"

"No," commented Horatio reflectively, "I don't think so. It was obvious she didn't want to involve the hotel in the investigation, but I don't think she knows very much."

"Well, of course not..." A sarcastic smile appeared on Frank's face as he imitated Blandine: "'It ees not our business to pry into ze affairs of our guests.' I don't like her and I don't trust her."

"Even so, Frank, I don't think she knows much. But she did give us a name to follow up. We should contact Eleanor Faraday and get in touch with lady 'Bliss.'"

"Yeah, I'll get on it. I'll also ask 'Thelma and Louise' to get started on reviewing the images on the surveillance cameras."

Horatio tilted his head. "'Thelma and Louise?'"

"The lady CSIs on the weekend crew. I've worked with them before. I call them 'Thelma' and 'Louise.' You know, like the movie. Makes 'em laugh."

"I see," said Horatio. Although he really didn't. Sometimes Frank's movie references didn't make much sense to Horatio.

"You know, Horatio, for a guy who slept until noon, you still look beat. Lauren too much for you, pal?" asked Frank lightly. He was kidding his friend, but he was concerned about him; if anyone was aware of how difficult things had been for Horatio the past six months, it was the detective.

Horatio grinned. "You're a regular comedian, Francis."

"Just worried about you. Things any better with Kyle?"

Horatio looked closely at Frank; he sensed the concern beneath the casual question and sudden warmth flared in Horatio's eyes. Beneath the jokes, sarcasm and sometimes-gruff exterior was a good and loyal heart, and Horatio loved this bear of a man who had stood by his side through some difficult situations. He was a good friend.

"He's better, Frank. Yesterday was a bit rough, but I think we had a small breakthrough. We're not out of the woods yet, but we're talking. That's big on its own. And all thanks to Julia."

"Julia?! You've got to be kidding. I don't see Julia as the mediating type."

"Actually, Julia had convinced Kyle to move home with her."

Frank shook his head. "Your business, Horatio, but living with his screwed-up mother while he's dealing with his own problems would seem to be the last thing the kid needs."

"You're right, of course. But the boy's vulnerable right now... and Julia has a way of getting past his defenses. She's his mother, Frank; he loves her. There's no logic involved, just emotion. We talked about things for a long time last night. I think he understands that it's not a good idea. Eventually, he needs to get back out on his own... but not yet. And he shouldn't stay with Julia; he'll never get his life back if he goes down that road."

Frank's brows drew together. "You doing okay, Horatio? You've been under a lot of stress. What does Lauren say about all of this?

"Frank, I'm fine. Lauren's been great; she listens while I do nothing but mope and worry about Kyle."

"Right," said Frank, the disbelief evident in his voice. "My guess is that you keep most of the things that trouble you locked inside, and never give her much of an opportunity to be 'great.'"

"Thank you, Dr. Phil," remarked Horatio drily.

While they talked, they noticed Blandine L'Engle leave the hotel and hail a taxi.

"Well, there she goes," said Frank, nodding in her direction. "Fine-looking woman... but what a cold-hearted bitch."

"Be fair; her focus is on the hotel. She doesn't want any bad publicity. She gave us what she knew."

"Maybe; maybe not. I do know one thing for sure."

"And that would be?"

"This little encounter with 'Miss Ees Not My Business' is gonna put a damper on my Wonder Woman fantasies."

"You'll survive." Horatio couldn't help but grin at his friend. "You know, Frank, I don't think Lucy would particularly enjoy knowing how your eyes ran up and down Ms. L'Engle with such... interest."

"I'm a detective. I'm supposed to closely observe situations - and people."

"Well, that's one way to look at it, I suppose."

"Besides, Lucy knows I'm not in the market - I just like to look at the merchandise. I've got all I need at home. Speaking of which, how about dinner tonight? Lucy is making some special Italian dish and she always makes enough to feed an army. Come for dinner... bring Lauren."

"Thanks, but if you don't mind, I'll take a rain check. Got something else in mind for this evening."

Frank nodded and opened the car door. "Okay. I'll start checking on this Bliss woman and let you know what I find."

Horatio stepped away from Frank's car as the detective began to pull away. Suddenly, he pulled out his cell phone. After the second buzz, he heard Lauren's voice.

"Hey you," he said.

"Horatio! Honey, I've been so worried. Are you okay?"

Surprised and puzzled, he asked, "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

There was silence for several seconds. When she began to speak, Horatio could hear anger, tension and something else in her voice.

"Why wouldn't you be? _Why wouldn't you be?_ Oh, I don't know. It must simply be my crazy imagination running away with me, I guess! I mean, you went to see Kyle's doctor yesterday afternoon - something I was very concerned about, as you know! Then you phone me and tell me there's a situation with Julia at the house and that you can't talk except to break our date. And, now, it's almost 4:00 in the afternoon - the next day! I've been worried sick that something terrible happened between you and Kyle - or Julia... and you're finally getting around to calling me... and acting as if there's nothing out of the ordinary – no big deal!... God! You can be so exasperating at times!"

"Lauren..." he began, only to find himself interrupted.

"You said you would call me last night!"

Horatio sighed, feeling guilt mingled with irritation. "I'm sorry. I was up late with Kyle... talking. It was too late to call you - "

"_Please_, that's a poor excuse! It is _never_ too late for you to call me. What's more, you _know_ that!"

"Lauren, I was tired. It was an emotional evening. I just wanted to go to bed. Look, I meant to call you this morning, but I overslept, and then something came up with one of the cases I'm working. This is the first opportunity I've had to call."

Another silence of several seconds greeted those words. Finally, softly, she replied, "I'm sorry." He could hear the regret in her voice. "It's just... I suppose I've overreacted… but I was worried... and..." The voice became even softer and uncertain.

"And what, sweetheart?" he asked.

"...and feeling left out of the loop. As if I'm always incidental to anything important that happens in your life."

"Lauren... that's not the way it is."

She said nothing.

"Hey, are you still there, sweetheart?" he asked, experiencing a sudden pang of remorse.

"I'm here," she said quietly. "So, is Kyle okay? What happened with Julia?"

"Look, the reason I'm calling is that I've got an idea. Why don't you pack a bag? Let's go away for the evening. There's a little place just outside of town... on the beach. We can have a nice dinner, spend the night. I'll tell you about everything then."

She hesitated.

"Lauren? Don't you want to go?"

"Of course, I do," she said finally.

"I'll pick you up at seven, then... ."

Unsettled by Lauren's words and the tone of hurt behind them, he slowly returned the phone to his pocket as he headed toward where he'd earlier parked his car. As he got into the driver's seat, his thoughts drifted back to Frank. Struck by how easy it had been for the detective to move into a relationship with Lucy Price, Horatio found himself wondering, _Why do I find relationships so difficult?_

After a tumultuous beginning, Frank and Lucy were living together. When Frank first met the young woman, she was being stalked by her psychotic husband from whom she'd run away. Horatio recalled the day Jerry Price had finally discovered where his wife was hiding. When he learned she was staying temporarily in Frank's apartment, he employed a ruse using a neighbor's children, and convinced her to open the door. While he and Frank had been out on a case, Price held Lucy hostage in the apartment, intending to take both their lives. Instead, brave Lucy had somehow managed to kill him before he could fulfill his objective. Vividly, Horatio remembered walking into the apartment and finding blood everywhere. Lucy sat in the center of the room, covered in her husband's blood, her expression dazed and bewildered, and seemingly calm amidst the mayhem that had occurred there. Such an awful day. But out of the emotional chaos, a love affair had sprung up between Lucy and Frank, and they had been unwilling to part since then.

Horatio marveled at the seeming ease with which Frank so quickly embraced the idea of living with the woman he loved. Horatio still struggled with the idea of having Lauren move in with him. While she'd never suggested that it was time for the two of them to do so, he knew she thought about it.

He was happier when she was around than when she wasn't... but there was something that kept him from moving the relationship to a deeper level. When he was with her, having her move in with him seemed the most natural thing in the world, and until Kyle's injuries in Afghanistan, it had seemed likely to occur in the course of time. And yet...

And yet, if he were honest with himself, he had to admit that having Kyle temporarily living with him gave him some... _what? breathing room?_... before having to make the commitment. It was almost a relief not to have to make the decision right now.

Why was that? Why did he so often keep her at arms length? He'd dragged his feet in the relationship since the start. And there was some truth in her remark that he kept her confined to the perimeters of what was going on with him. Why was that? When he was with her, he felt good... happy. But when he was alone, thinking about things, he experienced a reluctance to push the relationship farther.

A large part of it was his fear that she would learn his secrets, the secrets and dark feelings that he was usually successful in keeping at bay... but there were times he had trouble keeping the memories and fears locked away. A bad case, a bad night, something particularly stressful would be all that it might take to allow the phantoms to make their presence known. On his own, he could deal with it... but if she were there, if she were a witness... how could he hold it together? He didn't want to pretend all the time that everything was fine. He couldn't it. Things were _not_ always fine.

But... the phantoms never appeared when Lauren was around... so why was he so reluctant to take a chance? It was the worst sort of cliché - the middle-aged man afraid of commitment... always vacillating. He recalled that crazy dream he'd once had while sitting at Kyle's bedside: was Raymond right about his always pushing Lauren into the background? Would his lack of resolution one day drive her away? If he didn't want to lose her - and he didn't! - he knew he had to resolve his feelings.

Perhaps instead of 'Horatio,' his name should have been 'Hamlet'...

* * *

Entering the house, Horatio looked briefly around the living room and was disheartened to catch no sign of Kyle. Slightly worried, he headed toward his son's bedroom, concerned that he was spending the afternoon napping. Since his talk with Art Shapiro, Horatio worried more about Kyle's plunging into a deeper depression, and he was cognizant that one of the signs of serious depression was excessive sleeping.

After last night's conversation, he had hoped that some indication of positive change might be forthcoming. Horatio was enough of a realist to know that Kyle's problems weren't going to disappear overnight as a result of one conversation; still, he didn't think it was implausible that things might now begin to head in the right direction. Quietly, he opened the door to Kyle's room and was surprised to see he wasn't there.

And concerned.

_Where was he?_

He walked back into the living room and his eyes caught sight of something he'd missed before: the French doors were slightly ajar, and he saw his son sitting in a lounge chair on the porch, reading.

As Horatio stepped out onto the porch, Kyle looked up. "Hi Dad - didn't hear you come in. Where have you been? I was going to let you make me breakfast," he said teasingly, "but you'd already gone."

"Breakfast? Since neither of us was up before noon, lunch would have been more appropriate. Did you eat something?"

"Yep. So, where were you?"

"Had a call from Frank Tripp; I had to go downtown - developments in a case we're working on." Horatio sat down on the side of the lounge chair opposite Kyle, and leaned forward, dropping his hands between his knees. "Doing some reading?"

A self-conscious smile appeared on Kyle's face. "Yeah, well... I had some time and... well, I thought I'd take a look through some of those pamphlets."

Horatio said nothing, continuing to look at the boy expectantly.

"I was thinking... I was kinda thinking maybe I'd talk to that guy at the V.A."

"Doctor Shapiro?"

"Yeah... you liked him, right?"

"I did. But it's important that _you_ like him. The only way to find out is to give it a try."

Kyle sat quietly for a few minutes, lost in thought. Horatio picked up one of the pamphlets that Kyle had been looking at - "Wounded Warriors." He noticed that Kyle had circled the address of their website. It made Horatio feel slightly hopeful... certainly more hopeful than he'd been in weeks.

Suddenly, his son's voice broke into his thoughts. "Look, Dad... I don't know how I really feel about talking to this guy," he said abruptly. "There's a lot of stuff that happened in Afghanistan that I don't want to talk about - or think about. And I gotta be honest, I'm not crazy about talking about my life as a cripple, either. I hate this so much!"

Horatio winced at Kyle's use of the term 'cripple.'

"I understand that."

"Do you? I don't know if you can, Dad. I don't know if you know how hard it is to know that your life is changed forever. I... I hate even thinking about walking out the front door of this house. I'm afraid everyone is going to be looking at my... at the empty space where my leg used to be. I don't want them gawking at me, pitying me." For a moment, Kyle's voice broke. "I feel like a freak. Dad, I'm scared... I worry about just being able to walk around without falling on my face in front of people! I get frightened when I think about having to take the stairs, navigate street curbs, for Christ's sake! Things I never gave a thought to in the past."

A slight sheen of unshed tears appeared in the boy's eyes and he said brokenly, "I just want what I had, you know? To feel normal again. Am I ever going to be able to do that?"

Horatio's heart constricted as he listened to Kyle's words. The sarcastic, sometimes surly, manner was gone; he was speaking from his heart, giving Horatio a glimpse into the feelings and fears that ruled him. "It won't be easy, Kyle. You're right - I don't know what it's like to face the challenges you're dealing with. And that is just one of the reasons you need to talk to someone who can help you put these feelings and worries into perspective. Someone experienced in helping men who have been through some of the things you've gone through might be able to help you attain that… that feeling of normalcy again.

"Son, I may not fully comprehend what you're going through, but I can tell you this: people have to... well, they have to find ways to face the challenges life throws at them - both emotional and physical. Because, really, what choice is there? You can move forward - or fall back into a life of hopelessness.

"I don't want that for you. I want you to have a fulfilling life. I want your life to be hopeful, and happy - and productive. And I believe you can have that."

Kyle looked at him doubtfully. "Really, Dad? You really believe that's possible for me?"

"I do. If you want it... and you're willing to work for it."

Kyle sighed heavily. "Well, guess I better call that guy, huh? But - one meeting, Dad; one meeting is all I'm going to commit to. Let's see how it goes, okay?"

Horatio nodded. He suddenly reached out and brushed his hand lightly against Kyle's sandy blond hair. "It's a good place to start. You know, I'm proud of you. This isn't easy, I know."

A sudden smile appeared on the younger man's face, a smile that was reminiscent of his father's. Father and son were a pretty guarded pair, but there were times when the true sunshine of feeling peeked through the barriers always set in place, and in those moments, shared with only a trusted few, true understanding was reached.

Kyle leaned over and grasped the glass sitting near his chair, and Horatio was satisfied to see that it was iced tea and not something stronger. "I, uh, talked with Mom earlier today," he said, taking a sip of the tea.

"Oh?"

"Yeah... she's not a happy trooper. I told her I've decided to stay here for the time being."

"I can imagine her reaction..."

"A lot of tears and recriminations, I'm afraid."

"I'm sorry you had to deal with all that. Just remember, she loves you, Kyle, in spite of what she may have said - and don't feel guilty about any harsh words she may send your way."

Kyle grinned suddenly. "Oh, the recriminations weren't for me, Dad... Mom's not your biggest fan right now. She think you've guilted me into staying here."

A resigned look appeared on Horatio's face. "Well, she'll get over it. Don't let it bother you."

"I'm not worried about it. So, you hanging out here tonight or going to see Lauren?"

"I did make plans to see Lauren tonight. You okay on your own?"

"Sure. I might check out a few things online later; a couple of things I read caught my interest... a little.

"Dad... I'm sorry you had to change your plans last night. I know you did it for me. I, uh... I don't want to be a burden, okay? I don't want you to change your life because of me. Okay?"

Horatio stood up. "Don't be an idiot," he said, grinning. "Now, I have to get ready. I won't be home until tomorrow, so don't worry."

Kyle smiled broadly. "No worries."

Horatio started to walk through the French doors when Kyle's voice stopped him. "Dad?"

Horatio turned. "Yes?"

"Thanks..."

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten - Revelations - Part One

"Sir, will there be anything else?" asked the server as he gathered up the remains of Lauren and Horatio's dinner.

"Two brandies?" Horatio asked, looking into Lauren's sparkling gray eyes. She smiled, and Horatio turned to the server and nodded. As the man walked away, Horatio directed his gaze past the rail that encircled the small restaurant's deck, staring dolefully toward the sea.

It was a nice evening, and Horatio and Lauren had elected to eat outside, enjoying the soft, bright moonlight and the sweet ocean breeze. Festooned gaily overhead were strings of tiny white lights, and on each glass tabletop was a white candle emitting a soft, golden glow. Lauren leaned back comfortably in the high-backed rattan chair. Her pretty, troubled eyes darted about the deck, noting with mingled pleasure and disquiet the huge palms decorated with minuscule pale blue lights and sitting in large aqua-colored pots. It was a beautiful night... almost magical. She closed her eyes briefly. _Such a romantic setting. Why was she feeling so discomfited?_

Listening to the soft jazz that accompanied the waves crashing softly on the shore, she wondered if she had the courage to bring up the things that were bothering her and possibly jeopardize the evening. They shared so few evenings together of late; that, in itself, was one of the things that bothered her. _Did she want to risk ruining this one?_

She slowly opened her eyes; Horatio was still gazing out toward the darkness of the ocean. It seemed to her that he sought answers to the problems that chased him - answers, perhaps, as profound and murky as the ocean's mysterious depths. So much of life was mystery. And it often seemed to her that the biggest mystery Lauren had encountered in her life was the man she loved. Bemused, she continued to watch him, trying to gauge the barometer of his mood.

When he'd picked her up at seven, he had seemed determinedly cheerful... and, also, determinedly evasive. He'd kept up a running stream of conversation during the drive to the small bed-and-breakfast next to the restaurant. It was that uncharacteristic chattiness that concerned her. She had never known Horatio to be so talkative. She'd barely had time to get a word in edgewise while he quickly brought her up to date on his visit to Kyle's doctor, the confrontation with Julia and, then, Kyle's decision not to move in with his mother. Yet nothing Horatio had said to her had given her any real insight to his feelings - not the ambiguous recital of the visit to the doctor or his vague summary of the discussion with Kyle. Never had any man talked so much and said so little.

Still, she'd said nothing, deciding to wait and see how things went the rest of the evening. And the evening had gone well. Horatio had been affectionate, and funny... and, until now, very attentive.

As if reading her mind, he abruptly forced his gaze from the ocean and looked at Lauren. He watched as a light salt breeze gently lifted a stray lock of pale hair that had escaped the casual chignon and floated against the slender column of her neck. He found himself wanting to reach out and lightly caress the spot where the lock had settled. She seemed to read his mind, and her silvery eyes darkened, and so he gave into the desire, allowing his thumb to gently trace the same path as the errant lock.

Smiling, he continued the story of the meeting he and Frank had earlier in the day with the closemouthed French woman. He was awarded with a chortle of laughter from Lauren as she imagined Frank ogling the generously proportioned lady.

"So, what's next?" she asked, interested in the case. "A visit to the Gold Coast Madam?"

"Probably... on Monday. Also a check-in with the M.E. to see what the autopsy discloses. And I'm very keen to find out if anything interesting surfaces from the images on the surveillance cameras - we have the weekend crew working on that now."

Lauren suddenly straightened, remembering something that she'd intended to tell Horatio but had almost forgotten. "Horatio, I ran into one of your lab people on Friday afternoon."

"Really? Who?"

"Miss Valera... I can't recall her first name... it's an unusual one."

"Maxine," he replied. "That's odd... that you ran into her Friday. Where was this?"

"At the stables where I ride. She was inside, helping groom the horses. Apparently she works there part-time."

Horatio frowned. He recalled Calleigh mentioning to him that Valera had called in sick on Friday and would be unable to conduct an analysis he had requested. Instead, the analysis went to another technician.

"Is something wrong?" asked Lauren.

"It is if her part-time job is interfering with her work at the lab. She called in sick Friday."

Suddenly, Lauren found herself wishing she had kept quiet. She didn't like the look in Horatio's eyes. "Perhaps there's a reason," she temporized. "Frankly, she seemed... strange, slightly out of sorts. Maybe she really was sick. She... well, she didn't seem to recognize me at first. And, when she did, she was cold - distant."

"That doesn't sound like Valera." Horatio paused as the server brought the brandies to the table.

"Will there be anything else, sir?" he asked.

"Just the check, thank you."

After the man left the check and departed, Horatio looked out again at the sea, his thoughts on Valera. "Valera is rather enigmatic. She's always been friendly, but I don't think anyone knows her very well. Smart and capable, but keeps to herself. I've never known her to be unpleasant, however."

Lauren shrugged. "Well, maybe she truly didn't feel well."

Wishing to change the subject, Lauren swirled the brandy snifter between her hands, warming the liquid. "So... are you _ever_ going to tell me about your meeting with Dr. Shapiro... or your conversation with Kyle?" she asked, leveling an intent look into Horatio's eyes, and refusing to allow him to look away.

He frowned. "It was my impression that we'd talked about all that during the drive here. What is there left to say?"

Lauren took a sip of her brandy, praying for its false courage. She sighed unhappily and leaned back into her chair. _It's now or never, Lauren_, she told herself, reluctant to spoil their time together yet feeling the need to make Horatio talk to her. She could already feel the defensiveness building in him.

"You told me nothing, Horatio Caine, that you wouldn't share with your maiden aunt."

Horatio's eyes took on a hooded look and he started to avert his gaze from her and, once again, look toward the ocean.

"Hey! Horatio!" she said, abruptly snapping her fingers, annoyed. "Over here! I'm sitting right in front of you!"

Suddenly, he looked directly at her, his eyes wintry and irritation tightening the corners of his mouth. "What do you want from me, Lauren? I've told you everything," he said.

"Everything... and nothing. Horatio, your recitation - and that's what it was! - on the drive here was nothing but a... a... a book report! Was everything really all that cut-and-dried? Didn't you have any feelings about what the doctor said? About Kyle's abrupt turnaround from wanting to move in with Julia to deciding to stay with you? What was that all about? I want you to really talk with me... tell me what you're feeling."

"Christ," muttered Horatio. "Women... and 'feelings.'"

Lauren said nothing, continuing to look at him.

Finally, Horatio broke the silence. "Look, I've told you the important things. There were a few observations the doctor made that I think were off-base. I didn't feel like getting into all of that."

Lauren's brows drew together and she tilted her head. "What sort of observations, honey? I can see from the look on your face that whatever he said bothers you. Tell me about it... What did he say that upset you so?"

"Not so much 'upset' me as annoyed me. Shapiro suggested that I wouldn't be able to help Kyle until I was able to help myself. Help myself! I liked Shapiro and I think he'll be good for Kyle, but he was out of line. The session wasn't about me - it was about Kyle. That's why psychiatrists rub me the wrong way; they're forever seeking hidden meanings in even the most innoccent statements. I'm not the one who needs help; my son is."

Wanting to bring the tension down a notch, Lauren reached out across the table for his hand and held it in her own. Gently, she asked, "What do you think he meant by that?"

He squeezed her hand for a moment, but said nothing. After a few seconds, he replied, "He thinks I have problems... family issues... that I haven't addressed. He said I tensed up when I spoke of my father during our conversation."

"Honey, what do you think about that?"

"What do I think? I think, 'so what!'" he said abruptly. He pulled his hand from hers and picked up the glass of brandy, swallowing a healthy amount, suddenly desiring its warm, comforting taste.

"Who doesn't have family issues?" he muttered. "As for tensing up when speaking about my old man, well, he was a difficult son-of-a-bitch; the memories aren't exactly golden. Revisiting them at this late date is not going to change anything."

"Why did he suggest that talking to someone would help you with Kyle's problems?" Lauren asked, trying to understand. "Kyle's situation is nothing like yours... "

"I don't know," he said tiredly. "He seems to think I'm seeing too much of my dad in Kyle."

"Are you?"

"Of course not! Kyle is nothing like my father. Okay, it's true that I worry about the possibility that Kyle may have inherited his tendency toward depression, but I worry about that with regard to Julia's emotional problems, as well. And, yes, I am concerned he may use alcohol to escape his problems - like my father. But he is nothing like my old man!"

"It's okay, honey," she soothed, trying to calm the defensiveness and mounting tension she felt in him. "Don't get so upset. The doctor is just exploring possibilities."

"I'm not upset, Lauren. I'm annoyed. I just don't see why helping Kyle has to dredge up all this stuff from the past. It's ancient history. I'll do whatever I can for Kyle that's productive and useful. This walk down 'memory lane' is just... an excuse for weakness. I'm not weak, Lauren."

Surprised, Lauren sought to reassure him. "No one thinks you're weak, Horatio. This isn't about weakness."

She watched him again look toward the ocean, concerned and surprised by his remark that confronting and trying to understand his past equated, in his mind, with being weak.

"Tell me how you managed to convince Kyle not to move in with Julia."

Horatio sighed, rubbing his hand over his eyes. "Frankly, I'm not sure how all that came about. The boy was morose and defensive after Julia left. I... I was watching him get something from the refrigerator. He'd made some sarcastic remark that he wasn't drinking, or something like that - accused me of thinking the worst of him even if I didn't say so aloud...

"Funny thing..."

His words drifted off, and Lauren looked at him quizzically. "What, love?"

His eyes looked puzzled. "I was about to argue with him, but... a memory surfaced while I was watching him in the kitchen."

"What sort of memory?"

"I don't know... can't remember the details," he said firmly. "Whatever it was, it frightened Kyle. Afterward, he seemed... concerned for me."

"Why would he be frightened? I don't understand."

Horatio paused, struggling to get his thoughts in order. "I, uh... sort of zoned out for a moment or two... caught up in the memory, I guess. There must have been a... look... on my face that upset the boy. The memory - it was painful."

"You know it was painful, but you _can't_ recall the specifics?" she asked softly. _"Or you won't... with me?"_

Horatio studied the contents in his glass as he swirled the liquid back and forth. "The memory was a brief one," he said at last. "It was from my childhood. Bad night with my dad. Lauren, you don't want to hear this stuff, and, frankly, I don't want to talk about it."

"Horatio... you always keep me apart from anything meaningful in your life. Why? Why won't you talk to me? I sometimes think you don't care care enough for me... or don't trust me..."

"That's not true..." he began.

"It's true. Sadly. Even while Kyle was injured... I wanted so much to be there for you.. but you always keep your distance. You never let me in... why? You say you love me, but whenever something unpleasant or difficult happens in your life, you politely confine me to the sidelines.

"I want to know what bothers you. I want you to share your worries with me, your fears."

Too caught up in his own unhappiness, Horatio failed to hear the misery in her tone. "If something bothered me, worried me... wouldn't you love me enough to want to help me through it? Wouldn't you want to know about it? Am I just someone to spend a few hours with now and again... but never really allowed to enter more deeply into your life?"

Horatio continued to stare at his glass. "Lauren, this isn't about you... or us. You know I love you - didn't I ask you to stay in Miami when you were offered the opportunity to work for the senator in Delaware?"

She smiled bleakly. "As I recall it, I made the decision independently... while you kept your feelings pretty well locked up inside... until things came to a head one evening."

"Not true," he said softly. "I care... very much. But it's too hard... you're making this too hard. Please don't push me right now."

She said nothing for a moment, watching him stare into the brandy.

"Horatio, I don't mean to push you, sweetheart! I've kept quiet about my feelings for so long... Honey, I need to feel I'm part of your life," she began again, her heart in her voice. "I know that things from your past still hurt you. You've told me about your father's problems with depression, work, alcohol... and you've mentioned, in a general way, how difficult life could be when you're father was out of work."

"Difficult," he laughed harshly, taking another deep swallow of the brandy. "That's the least of it."

"I know," she said gently. "It haunts you... I know that, too."

Setting the glass down firmly, he looked at her levelly. "Only occasionally, Lauren. I don't go around day after day moaning about my past, 'trying to get in touch with my feelings.' It was what it was. It's over. Finished. Or it would be," he said pointedly, "if people would let it be."

Lauren flushed. "That's not fair."

"Isn't it? Why are you digging away at this? Isn't it obvious I don't want to discuss it? It's the past, for God's sake! Let it be!"

Neither of them said anything for a few minutes. Silently, they listened to the soft thunder of the waves breaking upon the beach as both tried to get their emotions in hand. Horatio was feeling forlorn as he looked at Lauren's lowered head. He realized his words had hurt her, but why wouldn't she just let matters rest? _Didn't he have enough to deal with?_

He knew there was some truth in what she said; he had shut her out during the worst of Kyle's convalescence. He knew it, and he acknowledged to himself that she'd made few demands on him during that time and had gracefully allowed him to slip back into her life as things improved with Kyle.

He loved her... but something about her frightened him. He needed to be in control - to have control. Control was so much a part of who he was. Sometimes... he worried she was seeing inside him. He didn't want her looking that closely; _he_ didn't want to look that closely. He had done a good job of moving past long-ago horrors, and he did that by never looking back. Onward. Always onward. One day at a time. Hour by hour, if need be. That's how you dealt with things... not by talking about 'feelings.'

Lauren slowly raised her head and looked at him intently. She caught his eye and refused to let it go. Softly, but determined, she said, "Horatio, I can't let it be because you can't."

He sighed with irritation. Before he could say anything, she reached out and gently cupped the side of his face. She felt the rigidity beneath his cheek. "Love, I've never mentioned this to you, but you're still living in your past... you haven't put it behind you... at least, not in your dreams. There have been nights when I've lain next to you and gathered you in my arms as you cried out in fear and anxiety. And it's always the same person in your dreams, Horatio. You call out to your father."

A stricken look crossed Horatio's face as he listened to Lauren's confession, but it was quickly replaced with anger. "What are you talking about? You've never mentioned any of this before!" he said accusingly.

"I was afraid to... afraid of how you'd react. So often I feel as though I'm walking on eggshells around you... afraid that if I bring up things that... are difficult... that you will retreat... run from me. I didn't know how to say anything... or if I should."

Furtively, Horatio glanced around at the few remaining restaurant patrons, as if fearful they, too, would learn his secrets. Furious with Lauren, he asked under his breath, "What did I say when dreaming? What could I have said that made you so _petrified_ of how I'd react?"

Lauren was afraid as she registered the fierce sarcasm in his voice. _Had she lost him?_ She'd never seen Horatio so angry with her before. There was a coldness in his expression that she didn't recognize and it cut her deeply to realize it was directed at her. Quickly, she tried to think back to those few times when Horatio had been half-asleep and his tear-clogged voice mumbled with despair. "You... asked him... your father... to put down the bottle... to go to bed... not to hurt her.

"Who was she, Horatio? Did your father hurt your mother?"

Horatio stared at her in horror and amazement. _Had he really said so much in his dreams?_ Suddenly, he stood up, reached into his pocket and pulled out several bills. He tossed them onto the table next to the check.

"I need some time alone. Go back to the room, Lauren. I'll see you later."

She looked up at him, stunned by his reaction - and hurt. "Horatio, please, don't run away. Let's go back to the room together... talk about this."

"I'm tired of talking. I just want some peace."

He left her then, sitting at the table, and headed toward the darkness of the ocean.

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven - Revelations - Part Two

Lauren remained seated in the restaurant, too stunned by Horatio's abrupt departure to do anything else. She watched as the lone figure made his way down the beach, a small column of moonlight creating a path for him. After several minutes passed, the darkness seemed to swallow up the lonely silhouette.

And still, Lauren continued to sit, paralyzed by worry, fear and remorse.

_What have I done? What have I done?_ she wondered. Her eyes burned with the effort of holding back the tears; no other place to go, they converged into a lump that lodged painfully in her throat, preventing her from swallowing.

She looked down at her hands and saw that she had unconsciously shredded the small paper napkin the brandy snifter had rested upon. Again she thought, _Oh Horatio, what have I done?_ In all the time she'd known him, she'd never glimpsed the cold steel that lay behind the expressive blue eyes that had always gazed at her with such warm feeling. The anger and defensiveness that had glinted fiercely in those eyes had frightened her, as did the tightness about his mouth and lips when they had compressed into a thin white line of fury. Such rage... such controlled rage... And directed at... _her_!

All she had wanted was for him to talk to her, to let her in... all she wanted was to let him know that he needed to speak to someone who cared about the things that still followed him - haunted him. And instead, he'd exploded when she'd tried to tell him...

_Exploded_? No... not really. It was more an implosion... the white hot anger and wreckage was internal, kept tightly under control. _I made things worse!_ she realized, her heart twisting in self-reproach. _He didn't want to talk about things! I knew that... yet, I kept pushing him. Why? Why did I do that?_

Because she had been too concerned about her own needs, not his. She suddenly understood how much his guardedness had hurt her over the course of their relationship; it had made her feel as if he didn't really need or value her._ Or love her?_ She cared so much about him that it hurt sometimes, and, in the deep recesses of her heart where she kept locked away her own insecurities, she wondered if his guardedness was an indication that he didn't share her feelings. _No, not merely wondered... she feared it._

And now she had probably ruined things for good. The way he had looked at her had cut her to the quick: angry, cold... remote. Was he done with her? Had she gone too far?

Unbidden, the memory of his stricken face appeared before her mind's eye. Before the wrath had taken over, there had been an expression in his eyes of horror and vulnerability. He had looked almost frightened at... _what?_ A lapse in control? _Yes! Good Lord! Did he think he could control himself even while he slept?_

_Yes, Lauren!_ she told herself. _That's exactly what he thought! Until you told him otherwise. Idiot! Idiot! What were you thinking?... as usual, all about yourself..._ Her heart clutched as she remembered the fleeting look of naked surprise that had appeared on his face when she disclosed his anguished dreams, and his quick struggle to control it. No wonder he'd been so angry with her!

Finally, her paralyzed limbs seem to work again, and feeling the threat of tears that were determined to make an appearance, Lauren rose and quickly left the restaurant. Once outside, she allowed the importune tears to fall. Her throat felt raw and painful, and she castigated herself as she thought of him somewhere on the beach, trying to get his emotions under control. _My poor baby,_ she thought, _I'm so sorry!_

She claimed to love him! How could she have allowed her own feelings to take precedence over the accommodations he made with himself... long-held accommodations that enabled him to function in spite of the painful past he kept locked away. _Because she hadn't understood. She hadn't understood how scarred he was. How could she? He kept a wall between them. But was that an excuse? No... no excuses, Lauren. Stupid girl!_

Suddenly, she wanted to find him and talk to him... hold him and tell him she was sorry. She needed to ask him to forgive her. Would he give her another chance? Was it too late? She didn't want to lose him!

She began an awkward combination of running and walking down the same sandy path that Horatio had taken, looking for him. Clouds began to gather and they obscured much of the earlier moonlight, making it difficult for Lauren to see. The wind began to pick up, and her hair escaped its chignon and began to blow about her face, mixing in with the tears. Adding to her anxiety were the tumultuous waves crashing loudly on the shore. _You better find him!_ they seemed to shout to her troubled mind.

Where was he? _Where was he?_

A lone figure began walking toward her, and her heart quickened with relief. She began to call out to him... but as the solitary man turned away from the beach, Lauren saw that it was not Horatio, and her hopes were dashed, causing her to begin crying in earnest.

She knew he wouldn't harm himself. He wasn't the type. He was a strong man, a sure man. It was the thought of the suffering she'd unwittingly inflicted upon him that made her worry for him. She didn't want him wondering along the beach alone, feeling devastated by her admission that he unconsciously called out to ghosts from his past. She wanted to tell him it was okay, that _he_ was okay. She wanted desperately to touch him, reassure him.

Picking up her pace in her anxiety, she suddenly stumbled in her high heeled sandals and fell down, her hand hitting the edge of something sharp, which caused her to cry out softly with pain. Picking up the object, she saw it was the shell of some small sea creature, left behind as its former occupant discarded it in search of a new home. Something about that small, empty shell bothered Lauren, and she sat there stupidly, staring miserably at it before tossing it aside.

_Calm down, Lauren!_ she thought. _What good are you to him if you become a mess? This isn't about YOU._ Slowly, she stood up and removed the sandals from her feet, and wiped the tears from her face. Resolutely, she fought back her fears, and continued walking along the shoreline, searching for Horatio.

At last she saw him. He was sitting on the sand, his knees bent upward and his hands hanging folded between them, as he leaned forward slightly. He seemed to be listening to the waves as they noisily approached, gazing at them as if they held the answers to questions only he could ask, and apparently aware of nothing else. She stared at his profile; it seemed made of granite, the lips pressed firmly together as if holding back some deep emotion.

Stopping a short distance from him, she stood there uncertainly. _Now that she'd found him, what should she say?_

"Horatio? Horatio?"

He looked up at her then, and anger flooded back into his face. "Lauren, what are you doing here? Come to 'talk'? Didn't I ask you to wait back at the room? I'm not in the mood to talk to you right now."

His cold eyes dismissed her then, and he turned his attention back toward the ocean. Everything about his mien seemed to suggest that for Horatio, Lauren was no longer there.

"I know," she said, struggling to make her voice heard above the waves. "But... I came to sit with you. Please, Horatio, let's just sit together, quietly. I won't press you."

He refused to look at her; it was as if he didn't hear her words... or chose not to.

"Honey, I'm sorry I hurt you!" she said, trying again. "It wasn't my intention...

"Please, won't you look at me? I love you, Horatio! I'm so sorry for pushing you. I've tried not to... really, I have. I didn't mean to hurt you...

"Oh God," she said, suddenly turning away, unable to bear the lack of response from him. He wouldn't even look at her. _Was she dead to him?_ She looked at him again, trying desperately to find some answering warmth for her in his face, some small movement that would tell her that he still cared.

"I told you about... the dream... because I wanted you to understand how much your past still hurts you - haunts you. I wanted you to know you can trust me, talk to me about the... the things that hurt you. I wanted to help you, not hurt you!"

Miserably, she hung her head. Nothing she said was having any effect on the cold, proud man sitting in the sand before her. He seemed to be finished with her. She had seen too much; worse, she had gracelessly made him aware of it. He was a prideful man; how could she have been so stupid?

Her next words were so soft that they could barely be heard above the bedlam of the angry waves. Unable to bear looking at him and seeing the lack of feeling he had for her, she said brokenly, "I just wanted you to let me in... love me... not push me away so often. Do you understand? Can't you forgive me? ...Have I lost you?"

Her choked voice finally forced his attention toward her. For the first time, he really seemed to see her, and he looked at her tear-stained face and the untidy hair blowing in her eyes... but it was the forlorn look in those eyes that began to melt his heart. Slowly, some of his wrath began to fade. Tiredly, he rose to his feet and faced her.

He was still upset, and there was a part of him that wanted to lash out against her still. But what good would it do? Something in her woebegone expression chipped away at his own anger and hurt. Frowning at her, he thought, _What had she done, really? Admitted to him that he cried out at night in his sleep - like a kid? To his father?_

The admission had shocked him. He hadn't realized that there were times when he lay beside her that the phantoms of his past returned. He had assumed that when he lay next to her, she had kept them at bay.

Resignation began to smooth the angry creases in his forehead and he sighed heavily. _Was he never to have any peace from the past?_

Horatio watched as Lauren pushed back the hair that had haphazardly fallen into her eyes. He took note of how awful she looked - sad, unkempt, worried. He felt a pang of remorse as he realized it was because of his behavior. As she moved her hand away from her eyes, he noticed a smear of bright red blood across her forehead.

"Lauren, your forehead - you're bleeding. Let me see - where is that blood coming from?"

In confusion, she touched her forehead to investigate, and it was then that Horatio saw it was her hand that was bleeding. "What happened to your hand?"

She looked puzzled. "It's nothing; it doesn't hurt. I stumbled. I'm okay." Looking into his eyes, some of Lauren's fear abated; Horatio no longer seemed the cold stranger with the remote, wintry blue eyes.

"I'm okay," she repeated, "but what about you? Horatio, sweetheart, I swear to you that I never meant to wound you so! I'm so sorry - please, won't you forgive me? Give me another chance? I shouldn't have pushed. The way you took what I said... I... I just didn't know..."

"Know what, Lauren? That I'd storm out of the restaurant - like a child? Because I'd been told I'd been crying out to 'daddy'?" His voice was hard, but this time the hardness was directed at himself. "Let me see your hand."

She held it out for his inspection. "Well, it doesn't look like the cut is all that deep," he said, squinting at it. "Let's get some salt water on it."

Taking her hand, he guided her to the edge of the water; they knelt down and he submerged her hand beneath the brisk, foamy water. "Stings a bit, doesn't it?" he asked, his eyes kind as they gazed apologetically into hers. "Does the trick, though."

They stood up, and he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dried her hand with it, all the while examining the flesh. "I think you're fine; the cut has already stopped bleeding."

Looking deeply into her eyes, he caught a strange expression in them - part longing and part sadness. He started to say something when he was thrown slightly off balance as Lauren unexpectedly threw her arms tightly about his neck and pressed her body close to his, murmuring soft, sad words of self-reproach and apology.

In that instant, Horatio found himself wanting nothing more than to hold her close and feel the warmth of her body next to his, and he wrapped his arms about her waist, pressing the length of his body hard against hers.

They stood that way for several long moments, their emotions as chaotic as the clamorous waves behind them. Lauren felt joyful, relieved, scared and grateful that he hadn't turned her away. He hadn't turned her away! Feeling she might cry with the relief of it, she said nothing, continuing to hold him tightly to her. Horatio felt the tension in her body and whispered close to her ear, "It's okay, sweetheart... it's okay..."

"I'm sorry... I didn't think... so sorry... please forgive me," she kept repeating brokenly.

"Stop it! You don't have to apologize."

"I do! I do need - "

Horatio dragged his mouth away from her ear and captured her lips in a deep, needy kiss. Returning it with the fullness of her heart, Lauren realized the kiss was more than just passion and need; it was his way of forgiving her - and apologizing to her. It nearly broke her heart.

Finally, he broke the kiss and stepped back. He reached out a hand and gently smoothed the sea-blown hair from her face. Smiling crookedly, he said, "You don't owe me any apologies, okay? I shouldn't have left you like that... " A heavy sigh escaped his lips and a sad look appeared on his face.

"Oh, Lauren... I just don't know anymore." He sat back down on the sand, and looked up at the night, which had seemed to suddenly gentle. In the passing of the clouds, the emerging moonlight made the lines appear more pronounced on his face, and Lauren saw the evidence of too many years of worry and unhappiness etched across his forehead and beneath his eyes. Quietly, she sat down next to him and took his hand in hers. She rested her head against his shoulder. Neither one of them said anything, desiring to be still and listen to the waves that now, like the two of them, seemed calmer.

"My... father," began Horatio after several minutes, in a voice that was light yet filled with tension, "was an unpredictable man..."

TBC

_**(Author's Note: It seems that what I had envisioned as two chapters to deal with Horatio and Lauren's 'revelations' will now turn into three. My apologies; but to do justice to the story, I'm afraid this part of the story will require three chapters instead of the two originally planned. I promise you we will be getting back to the murder investigation and to Kyle; but first, Horatio and Lauren have a few things to talk about.)**_


	12. Chapter 12

_To sleep, perchance to dream - ay, there's the rub...  
_~ William Shakespeare, _Hamlet_

Chapter Twelve - Revelations - Part Three

"My old man," continued Horatio after a lengthy silence, "was a piece of work. I've never liked talking about him, Lauren. Hell, I try not to even think about him. Or her...

"Most times, I can do that."

He looked down and saw Lauren looking up at him, her head still resting against his shoulder. "It's the way I've managed to survive," he said tersely. She nodded and said nothing.

"Our... house... was not a happy place. It was tense. Always. We - my mother, my brother - we never knew what to expect from my father.

"He wasn't always violent. Might have been easier if he were... but there were stretches of time, sometimes long stretches, when he was almost like anyone else's father. That was worst of all... You'd find yourself hoping that maybe... _maybe this time_, it would last... the good times, the peaceful times.

"Those were the times he'd come home from work sober. He'd be in a good mood... ah, when my old man was in the mood, he could charm the angels."

A sad smile appeared on Horatio's face. "He used to ruffle my hair... tell me how much I looked like his 'sweet Da' back in Ireland. He missed his father and he'd look at me with... with this painful look in his eyes. When in the mood, the old man could be a 'hugger'... very tactile. He'd pull me or my mother to him, hold us close... I used to wonder how my mother wound up with him, but on those occasions, I could almost understand. He had a sweetness in those moments."

A faraway look appeared in Horatio's eyes as he seemed to move backward in time, and a wistful, painful expression briefly crossed his face, too soon replaced with bitterness. "But those times never lasted. He'd be out of work again, or something would set him off... he'd start drinking... and then this 'stranger' would enter the house.

"When I was small, it confused me: one minute, he'd be the benevolent 'daddy,' the next he'd be this crazy man yelling at my mother, pushing her... hurting her.

"Frankly, I think it made it worse - having those good times. Made you hope the normal, happy times would last." Horatio shook his head. "But they never did... and you'd find yourself waiting for the dad who kissed you good morning on his way to work to return home... and, instead, this monster would greet you in the evening. Christ... I don't know how we lived through it."

He shifted position and sat across from Lauren. She regarded him with sadness. Her own past had been a secure, sunny one. Lauren's mother and father had been happy, and her memories of growing up were warm and loving. It was hard for her to imagine the horrors of Horatio's childhood. His head bowed low, he held her hand in both of his, and sat there staring at it.

"It taught me a hard lesson," he said softly. "One I find hard to 'unlearn.'"

"What's that, honey?"

"That love is... capricious... untrustworthy. I learned very early to be careful of my emotions. Safeguard them.

"Too many times, the old man would come crying to me... to my mother... the morning after he had hit one of us, filled with regret, begging us to forgive him, promising not to ever hurt us again. Christ! It's a terrible thing, Lauren - to have your father hold you tightly, crying and asking for forgiveness after he's physically hurt you. One part of me hated him! God, how I hated him! But the other part of me... the other part of me wanted to believe he would change... that he could change. He was my _father_...

"I wanted him to be the sweet man who sometimes sang Irish songs from his boyhood, and who held Raymond in his arms, and smiled and kissed my mother and told her she was a 'fine lass.' So many goddam times I wanted to believe!" Horatio's voice choked. "But just when I'd let my guard down, just when I'd begin to believe him and trust that things would be different this time, he'd go on another rampage.

"After awhile, I stopped trusting that he would change - believing that anything could ever change in that house - and I learned to take life as it came. I just withdrew, and let things play out. Affection wasn't trustworthy." Soft, bitter laughter escaped him. "I was probably the world's youngest cynic," he said.

Lauren leaned forward and stroked the side of his face. "Are you afraid to trust me, Horatio? Is that why you keep me on the fringes of your life?"

He wanted to say something, deny it, but he couldn't. There was a lump in his throat suddenly. _Was that why?_

Seeing he was unable to speak, she continued to lightly caress his cheek. "It's okay, honey. You don't have to say anything else, if you don't want to. I shouldn't have pushed you. Shh... it's okay."

Swallowing, he finally managed to speak. "How he used to hurt her... And I couldn't do anything about it. I was just a kid... I was afraid of him, afraid for her. Too young, too scared to do anything. When I'd beg him to leave her be, he'd push me - or smack me across the head. Believe me, I've had my share of 'seeing stars' - and not just in the sky.

"Often, I'd just escape by hiding in my brother's room... for a few years, he left Raymond alone - he was just a baby. So, I'd hide out there until the danger was over. I remember once just crawling under his crib, laying there in the darkness, burrowing my nose into the musty, rough fibers of the carpet, trying not to make a sound, hoping he wouldn't come looking for me.

"Brave, huh?" he said, mocking himself.

Stricken, Lauren could say nothing for a moment, too overcome at the thought of the young boy hiding under his brother's crib, hoping his father wouldn't find him, hurt him. "You were a little boy, Horatio. What can a child do? Wasn't there anyone who could help you or your mother?"

Horatio's mouth was set in a grim line although Lauren could see his chin had a slight, almost imperceptible quiver. He shook his head and said roughly, "One thing you learned early in the Caine household: what happened inside stayed inside. My mother was deeply shamed by my father's violence toward his family... she seemed to feel it was her fault - that my father acted the way he did because of what she did or didn't do.

"I think his arbitrary affection confused my mother as much as it did me; she seemed to think that if she could just figure out what he needed, my father would be happy... that everything would be okay. What a joke! One thing I've seen played out again and again over the years is how often the victims of abuse feel they are the ones responsible for the violence perpetrated against them. The fact is that my dad was a selfish, violent bully who used his fists and his cheap sentimentality against us."

He looked at Lauren and the vulnerability was gone from his eyes, and a hard bitterness worked the corners of his mouth. "But the neighbors knew what was going on, even if my mother didn't confide in anyone. There was no way they couldn't have heard the screams coming from our house in that little block of row houses... or not noticed my mother's use of dark glasses on even cloudy days."

"But, Horatio," asked Lauren, shocked at the negligence of neighbors who ignored the cries for help in a little boy's house, "did no one call the police?"

"Lauren, this was a poor, working class neighborhood in New York. Everyone knew everyone's business... and ignored it. Everyone had their own problems... and most people figured it was a family affair." He paused, and smiled slightly. "There was one lady, though... Mrs. Murphy. She was an elderly, crippled woman; she worked for some city agency, filling out paperwork for indigent families to get assistance. She used crutches, and would come home from work with her legs aching. My mother was a good-hearted soul... she used to change Mrs. Murphy's leg bandages in the evening, rub her legs down... the woman had no one else to help her.

"Anyway, she loved my mother. One night I guess she heard the... the noise... coming from the house, and she did call the police, and then came over to the house with them when they arrived. The cops took my dad into another room and 'talked' to him. One of the younger cops talked to my mother, but she just sat on the sofa, holding Mrs. Murphy's hand. Kept telling them my dad was fine, had just lost his temper a bit, didn't want to press charges, and so on and so on. The cop took one look around the house, the lamps laying on the floor, the dishes laying shattered in the kitchen, and just shook his head. Then he looked at me... I'll never forget him saying, "So, kid, is everything okay? Did your dad hurt you?'"

Horatio smiled bitterly. "Know what I said? I said, 'No, he didn't hurt us; we're okay. He's just upset. He'll be okay.' He didn't believe me, but he was young. What could he do? My mother wouldn't press charges, and I said nothing. You see, we kept our dirty business to ourselves.

"Only once... one time... did I ever tell anyone what was going on."

"What happened, honey?" Lauren asked.

"When I was about fourteen years old, I'd become involved with the CYO basketball team."

"CYO?"

"Catholic Youth Organization. I was a pretty good player when I was a kid... very competitive. I had a lot of anger in me. The kind of anger I kept bottled up most of the time, but let out on the basketball court.

"We had this young priest, Father Ralph... great guy... took an active interest in the kids in the neighborhood. He coached the team and, this guy, well, he liked to win." Horatio smiled at the remembrance.

"I liked to win, too, so we were pretty much on the same wave-length. I'd do anything to win... sometimes, I'd do things that were not so pretty. Once I hurt a guy on the other team in my... zealotry... for the win. Knocked the kid unconscious. Scared me... I wasn't sure he was going to wake up, at first. After the game, Father Ralph took me aside and asked me what was happening at home that I was so violent on the court.

"He's the first one who was ever interested and smart enough to look beneath the exterior... At first, I gave him the 'attitude' - told him to mind his own business - hey, I was winning games, right?" Again, Horatio smiled.

"But he was used to tough-mouthed inner-city kids, and he just looked at me when I gave him the attitude. About two weeks later, I showed up at practice with a black-eye and, afterward, he took me into the back office and got the truth out of me. He wanted to take me to social services... but I couldn't let him do that..."

Puzzled, Lauren looked at him. "Why not, Horatio? If things were so bad at home, why - "

"Better the devil you know, Lauren, than the one you don't," interrupted Horatio. "I'd had a lot of years dealing with my old man; what if they took me out of the house? What would happen to me? to my mother? my brother? Would things have been any better with strangers? I didn't have any faith that things would ever get better, and I didn't want anyone messing with the situation... not even Father Ralph."

"So he wasn't able to help you at all?"

"I wouldn't say that. Actually, he helped me quite a lot. He gave me a place to go when things were tough... and a friendly ear that listened when I needed to talk. When I was with Father Ralph, it was as if someone was letting all the steam that had been building up inside me slowly escape... instead of exploding. His presence eased the pressure from the volcano inside me, a volcano that was waiting for its chance to erupt. He never pressed me to do anything; I think he knew I wouldn't... couldn't. But he listened.

"And he made sure I kept on the right path - he used to tell me that a man's past was no excuse for the damage he did in the present. Tough words for an angry kid to hear, but words that got through to me. They got through to me because the man who said them really cared about me - and because I respected him. He was the first male figure in my life that I could depend on. At least until the Church sent him to another parish a few years later. He was a good man."

Horatio's brows drew together, and he said musingly, "Funny..."

"What is, honey?" asked Lauren, who hadn't seen anything funny in anything Horatio was telling her.

"His name was '_Father_' Ralph; he was only, maybe, ten years older than me, but he was more of a 'father' to me than my own. I'm not sure if I would have survived without him..."

Lauren said nothing, but her mind drifted thoughtfully to her past amusement at Horatio's frequent attendance at mass. Her own religious tendencies were undeveloped, and Horatio never discussed religion, but he was pretty faithful about going to mass. _Was this why?_ Suddenly, what had seemed amusing in the past seemed painfully touching to her now.

"I'm glad he was there for you, Horatio," she said tenderly.

"Hmm..." he paused for a moment. "About six months before he left the parish, I had my first major confrontation with my father... I was about sixteen at the time. He never dared hit me afterward... after that, he saved his violence for my brother... "

"What happened?"

"It was Christmas Eve. He'd been out drinking much of the day, came home surly and sat down in front of the television. He had a glass and a whiskey bottle sitting on the table next to him... just what he needed... more whiskey," said Horatio bitterly.

"My mother used to make the family go to mass. No, let me rephrase that: she made me and Raymond go to mass with her. My old man never did, except on the high holidays. So, of course, she was determined that my father was going to accompany the family to Christmas Eve services, even though she knew he'd been drinking and was in a mood where he was best left alone. Sometimes... sometimes my mother would have these unexpected little fits of rebellion... and she'd push my father to do something she wanted him to do, in spite of knowing what the consequences would be.

"That night was one of those instances. No sooner had he sat down then she began telling him to change into his suit for the service. I remember my brother and I looking at each other with dismay - just another fun-filled holiday with the Caine family. My old man just looked at her and picked up his glass of whiskey and drank it back, and then turned his attention to the TV again. I remember he was watching some old black-and-white movie, but I don't think he was seeing it... his thoughts were elsewhere. Again, my mother demanded he change into his suit. I remember whispering to her to let him be... that Ray and I were going with her to church and that should be enough. But Lauren, she was just determined that night that we were going to church as a 'family.' God, I could never figure out which was worse - when she'd take his shit or when she'd stand up to him. Guess it didn't matter... it always ended the same way.

"When she got no response from him, she walked over to him and stood in front of him, blocking his view of the TV, and told him to 'put down the goddam glass because he was going to church with his goddam family!' That went over well..."

He laughed suddenly and, in spite of the warmth from the night air, Lauren felt chilled by the harsh sound of his laughter. "My gallant father rose up out of that chair, picked her up and threw her across the room, yelling she should shut her damned mouth and leave him alone - that 'religion was for women.' Raymond was about nine or so at the time, scared, and he began to cry... well, my dear old dad turned from my mother and walked over to him... he made a fist, Lauren, and he... he punched a nine year old kid in the face, nearly knocking him unconscious.

"I was so enraged in that moment... hearing those goddam Christmas carols coming from the TV and seeing my brother laying there with a bloody nose and my mother in a heap on the floor that I didn't stop to think... I ran over to the table and picked up the whiskey bottle and hurled it into the TV screen... shattering it! I heard myself screaming at him, "There, you goddam bastard! Now the whiskey is gone and the TV show is over and you can take your goddam kids to church like a real father!'"

Looking at him with horror, Lauren asked, "What did your father do?"

"Stood there, shocked, I think... first time I'd ever shouted at him; certainly the first time I ever threw anything around the house. My usual way of dealing with him was to hide when I was a kid, and later, just walk out of the house... I'd never... confronted him before. In a weird way, I think he respected my anger... or was afraid of it. He told me to 'get the hell out of his house' and I did just that. I went down to the church and told Father Ralph what had happened. Wound up spending the night there. He took me home Christmas morning.

"He met my old man for the first time. It was the usual 'morning after the violence' scenario: my mother was making breakfast, Raymond was in bed, and my dad was drinking coffee - in his best penitent mood. If you didn't notice the bruises on my mother's face... or the broken TV set sitting in the corner of the living room, you would never have believed that anything bad had taken place the night before."

"Oh, Horatio," said Lauren miserably, "how terrible for you. Such awful things to remember... "

"Well," he said tightly, "maybe you understand now why it is... so hard... for me to talk about them."

"I do... I never knew... "

As if he hadn't heard her, Horatio continued. "After Father Ralph left the parish, I screwed up my courage after another bad incident, and talked to the priest who replaced him. He was a cold son-of-bitch... nothing like Ralph, even though he was young like him. He was a pompous ass... a man who loved the 'form' of the Church, not the realities of the people who went to it seeking help, direction... comfort. Anyway, when I asked him if he could talk to my mother and father, try to help them, he said it wasn't his place to interfere - that my mother was the person responsible for the peace in her household. What a laugh - he said she needed to be more understanding of the 'pressure' my father was under, and that God had placed the burden of harmony in a home on the woman, and if she couldn't achieve it, the problem lay with her.

"I wanted to hit him, Lauren, I really did. I wanted to punch that smug, self-righteous look off his face.

"It was many years before I could go back to the Church again after that... " he said, not looking at her.

"What made you go back, honey?" she asked, stroking his hand and forcing him to look at her.

When his eyes met hers, there was such misery and horror in them that Lauren felt herself grow cold. Never before had she ever seen anyone look so unhappy.

"Horatio, are you well? Maybe we should go back to the room - "

"No," he said harshly. "We've started this - may as well finish. You want to know what drove me back to the Church? It was the murder of my father."

Shocked, Lauren just stared at him. She knew Horatio's parents had been dead for many years, but never had she known the back story. To hear his father had been murdered shook her.

Before she could ask him what had happened, he began to spit out the story as if he couldn't wait to finish it. "I was working as a rookie cop with the NYPD at the time. I'd been out of the house for several years at that point, only seeing the family occasionally. One night, I got a call from the woman I told you about - Mrs. Murphy. My mother and father had been fighting all day and getting louder as the day wore on. She was worried about my mother, so I went to the house."

He looked up at the sky and sat listening to the waves hitting the shore. Slowly, he lowered his head, and his face was hidden from Lauren. She could see that he wanted to tell her something, but he was unable to get it out. She gently squeezed his hand.

"And then?"

He said nothing.

"Baby, if you don't want to tell me, then let's let it go. It's up to you."

He raised his head and she saw the beautiful eyes she loved so much glassy with unshed tears... tears she knew he'd never willingly let fall. "I went inside my parents' house... I don't know where my brother was... but my father... he had my mother backed up against the kitchen wall. He was holding a knife to her throat.

"I tried to calmly talk him down... all that stuff they teach you in the academy... stay focused, stay calm, talk to the perp. But my father wouldn't listen. He held that knife to her throat and blamed her for all the things that had gone wrong in his miserable life. He pushed the knife slightly against her skin, and I could see the beading of the blood against the whiteness of her throat. And God! My mother's eyes!

"My mother's eyes, Lauren! They were filled with fright... kept staring at me with horror, begging me, pleading silently for me to do something."

Suddenly, unbidden, the tears began silently to fall in spite of Horatio's efforts to hold them back. "I pulled my gun, told him if he didn't put the knife down, I'd have to shoot him... shoot him, Lauren! _My own father_, for God's sake! I've been over this time and time again... and I still don't know what I could have done differently!"

Lauren's index finger began to wipe the moisture from the outer edges of Horatio's eyes as her own began to fill.

"But he didn't seem to hear me... he was somewhere else... someone else... and he looked at me and he - "

Horatio stopped speaking and looked around desperately as if something - or someone - was watching him. Sensing nothing, he looked again at Lauren. "He drew the knife across her throat, cutting a main artery."

"Dear God!" Lauren exclaimed softly, horrified at the picture Horatio's words conjured up.

"I didn't think twice, Lauren - I raised the gun and quickly fired two shots into him... two bullets... that's all it took... just two bullets. And he was gone... and so was my mother. Both gone... in a matter of seconds. All those years, all those goddam years of being petrified, scared... and they were both gone... in seconds.

"You want to know the worst thing? I was glad! I was relieved! I was free of them... it was all over... finally...

"Or so I thought... "

Shocked and distressed at what Horatio had shared with her, she found herself unable to speak for several moments. She leaned forward and pulled him close to her, stroking the back of his neck, wanting to comfort him, but unsure what to say. Her own life had been such a happy one, her family close and nurturing. Always, her mother and father's love had been the strength that sustained her in bad times. The thought of what Horatio had been forced to endure filled her with horror and sadness... and anger. How could anyone put their family through such horrors?

Horatio hid his face in the bend of her neck, but she could hear the soft words coming from him. "About six months after they died, I began going to mass again... lighting a candle for both. I loved my mother, Lauren...

"But my father... that goddam difficult man - that loving, hating man... I couldn't get past him, you know? He haunted my dreams... as he lay dying on that kitchen floor... he looked up at me like... I'd hurt him... failed him in some way. I couldn't make penance for having killed him.

"He was my _father_, Lauren!

"Sometimes... sometimes I feared he would kill us all in a rage... and yet... And yet I still cry for him. Can you understand that? I swear to God, I can't! He treated us horribly... yet I still cry for him. _I cry for him!_ Even more than for her! What the hell is wrong with me? He was a fucking monster!

"... and yet I still cry for him." He moved away from Lauren's warmth, angrily shaking his head, mystified that he should feel such emotion. "And, apparently, I cry out to him in my dreams. Do you understand now why I was so upset when you told me that? I can't let go of him... in life, in death... in my dreams!"

Horatio abruptly stood up, wiping the sand from his pants. He looked away from the shoreline and toward the lighted buildings sitting at the edge of the beach. He held his hand out toward Lauren, helping her rise. Holding her hand, he started walking toward the lights in the distance, but she stood still, preventing him from moving forward. He turned and looked at her, resignation written upon his face.

"Lauren?"

She reached out, gently touching his hair, and leaned forward to kiss his mouth. "Of course you still cry for him, honey," she said softly. "He was your father... he hurt you, bewildered you; he used your love for him against you and made you feel so guilty for so long. But, in the end, he was still your father.

"Horatio, I don't know the right words to say to help you with this, but these feelings - memories - they're still ripping you apart. Honey, you need to talk to someone about all of this... "

"I talked to you," he said.

"You need to talk to someone who can help you. I love you... and I will do what I can, but I'm not... qualified... to help you with this. Just think about it, okay? I won't say anymore about it... but just think about talking to someone..."

Horatio sighed. "This all happened so long ago, Lauren. Talking about things doesn't change the past."

"I know... but the point isn't to change the past - it's to change _you_... help you."

Horatio smiled slightly, and together they headed back to the Inn.

* * *

Sitting quietly in their room, his hair still damp from the shower, Horatio contemplated the king-sized bed across from him with trepidation. _Dreams... dreams..._

He heard Lauren turn off the water as she emerged from the shower, and imagined her drying her body and slipping into her robe. He leaned his head back against the chair and closed his eyes, thinking of all the secrets he'd so willingly divulged to her. Would he regret it in the morning? Right now, he was too tired to indulge in regrets. He felt emptied of the sadness that had tried to follow him on his way back from the water's edge... he sensed that he'd left some of the day's burdens back near the water... was it possible they would all wash out to sea with the waves?

He didn't know. At this point, he really didn't care. He didn't want to talk anymore; he certainly didn't want to think anymore. And yet... he opened his eyes and uneasily they drifted toward that big bed. _What would happen when he closed his eyes? Would dear old dad make a return visit?_

"Horatio?"

He looked over at Lauren standing in the doorway between the bedroom and the bath, and his eyes warmed at the sight of her. She looked like a sixteen year old, her face scrubbed free of makeup, her hair gathered up in a ponytail, and a thick terrycloth robe wrapped around her. He smiled. "Hey, sweetheart... just resting my eyes for a moment."

She walked toward him and stood between his legs. Leaning forward, she kissed him and smiled warmly. "Tired?"

"Hmm... it's been a long day." Again, his eyes drifted uneasily toward the bed, and then back again to Lauren with renewed vigor, as if trying to stave off bad imaginings. "But not too tired for you." He started to kiss her in return, but she pulled slightly away and drifted down onto her knees, looking up at him. He looked at her, puzzled, but she gently pushed him back against the chair.

"Hey, Lieutenant, relax... that's right... lean back, honey, close your eyes... "

She allowed her fingers to dance lightly across his chest where his robe lay partially open. Feeling him begin to relax, she leaned forward and allowed her lips to gently follow the path her fingers had already traced. Slowly and sweetly, those fingers moved toward the ties of his robe, and she gently loosened the garment until it fell completely open, and still her questing mouth continued its journey.

Horatio suddenly gasped. He opened his eyes as he felt her take him gently into her hands and bring her mouth down to that most sensitive part of him. "Easy," she breathed, "easy..."

"Lauren... sweetheart... no," he managed, feeling himself harden as intense feeling began to sweep through his body, "don't... "

She looked up at him and smiled hotly. "I want to... I need to... please... let me love you, honey... let me love you tonight..." She began again to lower her head.

He leaned forward and gently grasped the sides of her head, easing her face upward. His voice was urgent. "Not this way, sweetheart... this isn't necessary... you don't have to... you don't... "

Suddenly, her warm, wet mouth enveloped him and began to move with its own sweetly urgent rhythm, and Horatio found himself unable to continue protesting. _God, it was so good... but he couldn't let her do this... he didn't want her to feel... that she had to do this... so good... so..._

Slowly, Horatio's worries began to melt away, and everything that had mattered was nothing... nothing except for Lauren and the pleasure she was giving him... _his_ Lauren... who knew everything - and loved him in spite of it.

* * *

Lauren leaned over sleepily in the darkness, reaching toward the warmth that she knew would be Horatio... but her hand, instead, felt the coolness of the empty sheet next to her. Confused, she sat up in the darkness of the room, looking around for him. She was about to call out his name with concern when she saw a silhouette behind the filmy curtain that led to the small balcony off the room. She reached for the robe that lay crumpled on the floor next to the bed, and wrapped it about herself, and walked out onto the balcony.

Horatio looked at her with surprise. "Lauren, love... what are you doing up? Did I wake you?"

"I turned toward you... and you weren't there... I was frightened," she said quietly.

He smiled and pulled her to him. "I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd waken."

"Can't you sleep, honey?" she asked.

Looking out into the darkness, he paused before answering. A troubled look appeared on his face. "I slept a bit... then woke up."

Lauren frowned. "Bad dreams?"

"No." He raised a brow. "Not that I'm aware of, anyway," he said pointedly.

"Come back to bed, Lieutenant... it's late. I want you to hold me." She started to pull him back into the bedroom, but he gently resisted. "Horatio?"

"I'm afraid, Lauren," he admitted sheepishly.

"Of what, honey? What are you afraid of?"

"Of that," he said, pointing toward the big bed.

"The bed? I don't understand," she replied, confused.

"I'm afraid... of seeing _him_ again. Of calling out to him. Crying."

He looked at her, his face serious. "I don't want you to see me as weak, Lauren. I'm not weak... and I'm not crazy."

"Horatio! Honey, just because you have bad dreams occasionally doesn't make me think you're weak... or unstable. Is that really what you fear?"

He said nothing, continuing to look at her.

Lauren sighed and smiled gently. "You are the strongest man I've ever known, Horatio Caine - and the sanest. Only a strong man could have survived what you have... and only a sane man could have moved past it all and built the life and career that you have - and gained the respect and affection of so many."

"But you think I need to speak with someone..."

"Not because you're unstable, honey! Or weak! I want you to speak to someone so that you can... understand and put into some sort of context the guilt you seem to feel... to help you understand just a little better some of the things that haunt you. That's all. My love, no one would ever think Horatio Caine is weak... and certainly, not crazy."

"Isn't it crazy to be afraid of dreams at my age?"

She shook her head, gazing into his eyes tenderly. "Nope." She smiled kindly. "You, Lieutenant, are a control freak! It's not the dreams you're afraid of... you just hate knowing that someone else is seeing you when you're not in control. You realize that, don't you, honey?"

"Control freak, huh?" he asked, a sweet smile on his face.

"Hmm hmm. But it's okay, baby..." she rose up on her toes and kissed him lovingly. "You're safe with me... all your secrets are safe with me... come back to bed... no matter what you dream, you're safe... you'll always be safe with me... "

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

There will be time, there will be time  
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet...  
~ _The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock_, T.S. Eliot

Chapter Thirteen - Role-Playing

"Morning, Sunshine," greeted Frank Tripp, surprising Horatio with his unexpected appearance in the lieutenant's office on a dreary Monday morning. Looking askance at the grinning detective, who sat leisurely in a chair across from Horatio's empty desk, the redhead frowned as he entered his office. From Frank's expression, he suspected he was about to be made fun of.

"Nice to see you before noon," continued Frank. "Keeping bankers' hours nowadays?"

Horatio looked at his watch. Frank was right - he _was_ late... but only by fifteen minutes. "Didn't know you were tracking my time, Frank."

Tripp grinned. "Sorry, H. It's just fun to yank your chain - don't often get the opportunity. It's been my experience you're always here, working 'round the clock. Glad to see that isn't always the case."

Horatio walked toward his desk, glancing briefly out the window as he did. It was depressingly gray outside, and a light rain had begun to fall. "I take it this isn't a social call."

"Kinda grumpy today, huh?"

"I have an unpleasant task to perform later; guess it's affecting my mood. Sorry, Francis."

"No problem. Thought you might want to know that the weekend crew found nothing at Saturday's crime scene that enables us to ID the killer. This is one cagey broad... that is, if it is a broad perpetrating the murders. Crime scene was clean as a whistle."

Horatio sat down and stared gloomily at Frank. "What about the surveillance cameras?"

Frank brightened. "Well... as a matter of fact, we may have something there. One of the weekend gals pulled out images from the cameras and we found something interesting... someone who appeared to stand out from the hotel's general population. Sometime around one a.m., the front entrance camera showed a figure entering the hotel... unusual."

"How so?"

"The individual was dressed in gray sweatpants, a sweatshirt with a hood... and was carrying a duffle bag. Hardly the sort of dress visitors wear to a luxury hotel. Couldn't positively confirm from the images whether it's a man or woman... but I'd guess a woman based on the slight frame and lack of height. One other thing... she was wearing large, dark sunglasses. Who wears sunglasses at one o'clock in the morning?"

"Someone with something to hide. Did the camera near the front desk track her?"

"Only briefly. She never approached the desk directly. She stood in the lobby for a moment and made a call on a cell phone; a minute later, she walked toward the elevators and entered an empty one. At that point, she was out of the range of the cameras. Odd thing... the cameras never picked her up leaving the hotel... so either she works there and changed into work clothes once she arrived... or knew a way out where the cameras couldn't spot her.

"I made a call to Wonder Woman... described the subject and asked her if she had anyone working for the hotel who matched the description... or whether anyone on her staff noticed anyone unusual that evening."

"And?"

"And nothing."

"Hmm... Think she was holding anything back?"

"Not this time. Seemed puzzled when I described the subject, as if amazed that someone so casually dressed would enter her hotel. Got a bit worked up, in fact - she was affronted that I'd suggest such a 'poorly clad' individual would be employed by the Excelsior. Also advised the working staff don't enter the hotel via the front entrance."

Horatio sighed.

"And there's this," said Frank, handing Horatio a folder. "I stopped by to see the M.E. - Dr. Banks has finished the autopsy... the findings are inside."

Horatio opened the folder and quickly perused the information. It was the Bobbysox Killer's MO - the use of Suxamethonium chloride as the paralytic agent, the cigarette burns about the body and sexual organ... and, of course, the child's white sock which had been lodged inside the victim's throat. Nothing had been found on the victim that could be traced to a perp.

A thought suddenly occurred to Horatio. "Frank, did you ask Ms. L'Engle for the phone records for Christensen's room?"

"We've already been through them, Horatio. Nothing except calls to room service."

Horatio drummed his fingers on his desk. "Was there a cell phone amongst Christensen's personal effects?"

" 'fraid not... I know what you're thinking... that maybe our mystery woman placed a call to him, and he invited her up."

"Yes... well, so much for that. Without a phone or the phone number, it's difficult to confirm. Has Christensen's family appeared yet? Perhaps they can give us the number of his cell phone, who the account is with... then we can check for possible calls..."

"You're thinking the perp took the phone when she left Christensen's room?"

"Possibly. Certainly worth looking into."

"Okay; I'll check on the status of the family. And here's something else worth looking into - I contacted Eleanor Faraday."

Horatio looked up at Frank and grinned. "Well, Detective, you've been a busy boy this weekend, haven't you?"

"Yeah... well, _someone_ had to step up to the plate since you were out of town," he said, smiling.

"Sorry about that, but - "

"Come on, Horatio, you don't owe me or anyone else an explanation for taking some time to yourself this weekend. Anyway, Faraday knows we're paying her a visit today - and that we are interested in her girl, 'Bliss.' I'm kind of curious about Faraday. It isn't often a guy like me gets to meet the 'Gold Coast Madam.' I'm not exactly in her clientele's league. You want to to go now?"

"Give me twenty minutes, Frank... There is something I need to take care of first... Do me a favor, will you? Pick up copies of the images from the surveillance cameras. I'd like to take a look at them."

* * *

Horatio stood just inside Maxine Valera's work room, his brows drawn sharply together. The room was dark. Valera was not there. _What is this about?_ he wondered.

"Hi boss," said a chipper voice behind him. He turned to see Calleigh standing in the doorway. "If you're looking for the profile that was run on the sock found in the Christensen case, you'll have to see Bobbi Russell - she's been filling in for Valera. I believe the profile is complete, although you're not going to be happy."

"Let me guess," he said sharply, unable to hide his irritation, "nothing on the sock that couldn't be traced entirely to Christensen - correct?"

"That's right. I'm sorry, Horatio; I know how frustrating this is. Whoever is behind these murders is very careful to leave us nothing to work with."

Horatio looked around Valera's darkened work station. "Do we know why Ms. Valera is not here?"

"Called in sick today." Calleigh looked closely at Horatio. She sensed he was angry about something... as well as puzzled. "Horatio?"

He looked at her. "Ms. Valera was sick Friday, is that correct?"

"Well, yes... is that a problem?"

Horatio didn't say anything, just looked about the darkened room again. Calleigh had never known Horatio to be upset when one of his staff called in sick. For one thing, rarely did any of his people take sick time; for another, he didn't want them jeopardizing their health since, without exception, they gave one hundred percent to the job. He always told them 'health first, job second.' _Too bad he seldom follows his own advice_, thought the pert blond, who was often exasperated by her boss's lack of regard for his own well-being.

She touched his arm gently, trying to regain his attention. "Horatio, what's wrong? Maxine looked pretty bad last week when she left work. Frankly, I was glad she called in sick Friday - I felt she needed the time off and I authorized it. I'd guess she is still recovering... she's never been a slacker."

Horatio nodded. "No, she hasn't... and yet..."

"Yet?"

Deciding to take her into his confidence, he replied, "Yet Lauren ran into her Friday afternoon at the stables where she rides. Seems Valera has a part-time job there, tending to the horses."

"Really?!" Calleigh was astonished. It seemed unlikely to her that Valera would risk losing Horatio's trust by lying about sickness and then going to work at a... a_ stable?_ "Horatio, that is so hard to believe! Is Lauren sure about this?"

"Seems to be. Apparently, she talked with Valera... who was less than thrilled to see her."

Calleigh frowned. "I guess so... lying about being sick, and then running into your boss's girlfriend." She paused thoughtfully. "You know, Maxine is a difficult person to get close to... keeps to herself. But I don't like this, Horatio. Last week, she seemed genuinely ill. She has never seemed like someone who'd lie to me. Come to think of it, she doesn't seem the 'horsey' type either; she's never said anything about horses that I can recall..."

"Well, you said it yourself: she keeps her own counsel. Who knows what her interests might be."

"Do you want me to have a talk with her tomorrow, Horatio? Find out what is going on? After all, I'm the one who encouraged her to take some time off last week."

"No... no, I'd prefer you not say anything to her. I'll speak with Ms. Valera myself."

He looked around the darkened area one final time and shook his head. _Something is not right. What is going on?_

* * *

Horatio and Frank sat quietly inside Eleanor Faraday's well-appointed drawing room, awaiting the lady's appearance.

While they waited, Frank studied the room. He was no art expert, but he knew enough to recognize that the art on the walls was not reproduction. There were several period paintings of figures he assumed were historical... he certainly recognized a very small painting of Napoleon. _She didn't pick this stuff up at the local K-Mart_, he thought. The Gold Coast Madam's 'escort service' was a lucrative business based on the expensive, understated elegance of the room.

Horatio was silent. He was intently studying the stills from the surveillance camera, paying close attention to the figure garbed in sweat pants and glasses. _Definitely the slight figure of a woman... or a girl_, he thought. Her hair was tucked beneath the hood of the sweatshirt and its color couldn't be discerned. The large sunglasses obscured much of the subject's face. All Horatio could tell from the images was that the individual was Caucasian and of slight build. _Not a whole hell of a lot to go on_, he thought... _if, indeed, this individual is the killer. Could this be 'Bliss'?_

"H, what do you think of this place?" asked Frank, interrupting Horatio's thoughts. Frank's open palm made a sweeping motion about the room, generally acknowledging the delicate, ornate furniture; he knew it was expensive... like the paintings... like the thick, oriental carpets in pastel shades of white, gold and blue.

Horatio looked up from the stills and seemed to take in the room for the first time. He also noted with amusement the incongruity of seeing his large, rather ungainly friend seated in a slight, graceful chair of gold satin upholstery.

"What I think is that you better be careful with that meat hook you call a hand... you almost knocked that clock off that table," he said, indicating the antique ormolu timepiece sitting on the table closest to Frank.

"Fancy, schmancy," commented Frank, frowning dismissively at the piece.

"And probably worth more than you make in several years, Frank."

"Indeed, sir, quite valuable - and a very fine representation of the art of its period," said a low, musical voice. "You are familiar with the Empire era in France's history?"

Horatio and Frank turned toward the speaker, an attractive, aristocratic-looking blond who stood in the room's entrance way, appraising them with a cool, distant charm. Her ice blue eyes glittered brightly, and her unlined face made it hard to determine her age, yet Horatio knew from the publicity about her that she was of middle age.

"It was a period in time when men were heroic in their greatness, and the women intelligent, seductive and alluring," she continued. Her eyes drifted toward the small painting of Napoleon with appreciation.

"Ms. Faraday?" asked Horatio.

"At your service. And you would be - ?"

"Lieutenant Horatio Caine, MDPD, and," he continued, indicating Frank, "Detective Frank Tripp. We'd like to ask you a few questions about a case we're investigating."

"Indeed?"

Eleanor Faraday swept into the room, and sank gracefully onto a sofa across from the two men. An old, obviously expensive silver tea set sat on the small table in front of the lady.

"Gentlemen, would you like some tea?"

"No thank you," replied Horatio, watching Faraday as she smiled at him and cooly poured some tea into a cup of such fine, delicate china that it was nearly translucent.

Rather like the woman herself... Horatio found himself reading her easily.

Eleanor Faraday projected a lovely, ethereal appearance, sitting before them, wearing her smile of cool appraisal. Like her home, the Gold Coast Madam's appearance was one of elegant refinement. She wore a soft chiffon, tea-length dress, pale rose in color, which seemed to float delicately about her limbs as she perched herself on the edge of a deep blue and gold striped sofa. Horatio decided the furniture, the room - _the entire setup_ - was, like the lady sitting across from him, designed to falsely provide visitors with an impression of graciousness. Beneath the quiet elegance, Horatio sensed a needy grasping for social standing. Faraday's posture as she sat on the sofa underscored his impressions of both the woman and her surroundings - refined, graceful, never at ease. Horatio doubted that Faraday ever rested her back against a chair. She was a poseur; like many a high-end madam, she longed for respectability. _Strip away the expensive accoutrements_, he thought, _you're left with just a high-priced whore..._

"Ms. Faraday," he began, "there have been two murders in the past two weeks... at least one of the victims seems to have had a connection to one of your people... a lady known as 'Bliss.' "

"Am I allowed to ask who the gentleman was, Lieutenant," she inquired, tilting her head and studying Horatio.

Horatio nodded. "You are. The victim's name is Joseph Christensen."

A look of genuine regret crossed Faraday's features. "Ah... Joseph... such a pity. A kind man. A generous one. My ladies will be sorry to hear of his... passing."

"His _murder_," emphasized Frank.

"Yes, of course; I apologize, Detective. It is... difficult... to use the term in connection with one we held in such esteem. Bliss, especially, will be devastated."

"Yeah? Was she one of his regulars?"

Faraday's delicate nose wrinkled with distaste at the term. "If, sir, you are inquiring whether Bliss's company was frequently requested by Mr. Christensen, the answer is yes. A lonely man, powerful, charming... he often required the company of a charming young girl... for distraction, conversation."

" 'Conversation,' " repeated Horatio, quirking an eyebrow and glancing toward Frank with his best noncommittal look.

"Lieutenant, what connection is there between the... passing... of Joseph and the services that Bliss provided to him?"

"Ma'am, we found Mr. Christensen in circumstances that seem to indicate a murder that has its genesis in sexual... anger."

"Sexual anger? Really, Lieutenant, none of my ladies are angry... and the services they provide are not sexual. My ladies are trained in the gentle art of flirtation, distraction... amusing repartee." She glanced again at the painting of Napoleon and a slight smile appeared on her face. "Like Napoleon's dear Josephine... my ladies... excite... with the art of intelligent discourse, delicate coquetry, graceful conversation..."

"Yeah, well, old Joe was getting a lot more than conversation from whoever paid him a visit early Saturday morning," replied Frank.

Horatio leaned forward, pushing a grainy surveillance image across the small table in front of the sofa where Faraday was seated. "Ms. Faraday, is the person in this photo familiar to you?"

Faraday's long graceful fingers reached for the photograph. She studied it for several seconds and returned it to the table, pushing it back toward Horatio. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant, but I have never seen this individual before. I have no idea who it is."

"Is this the girl known as 'Bliss?' " asked Frank.

"Bliss? Oh my goodness, no!" Faraday seemed genuinely surprised at the question. "That is definitely not Bliss."

"Is the lady here? Could we see her, please?" asked Horatio.

Faraday picked up from the table a small gold bell with an ornate, lacy stem. She quickly, gracefully waved it about once or twice, coaxing a gentle singsong of chimes from the piece.

A tall gentleman in a severely tailored black suit appeared in the doorway. He paused before entering the room and addressed Faraday. "Madam?"

"Charles, has Miss Smith returned to the house? I believe she had a breakfast appointment this morning."

"Yes, madam. She is in her room."

"Excellent, Charles. Please ask her to join me."

"Miss Smith?" asked Horatio as the servant walked away.

Faraday turned her attention back to Horatio and smiled brightly. "That's correct - Miss Alice Smith. 'Bliss' is the name Miss Smith employs for the... the, ah, role she assumes for the enjoyment of her clientele.

"Lieutenant, are you certain I can't pour you some tea? I assure you it is a very fine blend that costs dearly... it comes from an area in China renowned for its age-old expertise in growing and blending leaves. The taste is incomparable - I promise you that you've never tasted anything quite like it."

"Thank you, but I think I'll pass."

"Detective?"

"I'll take some coffee if you have it - do you think 'Igor' can wrestle some up?"

Horatio looked at Frank, an almost imperceptible frown appearing on his face, warning Frank to watch his mouth.

"I'm sorry, Detective. Coffee is harsh and aging to the skin; I am afraid I don't have any to offer you."

Faraday daintily sipped her tea, studying Frank. "I do hope you won't take this the wrong way, Detective... but you have a certain amount of puffiness under your eyes. You have a stressful job... I can see it in the lines around your eyes. Stress plus the acidity of coffee is an unfortunate combination. One of my ladies is a gifted aesthetician... if you have the time, I am certain she could do something about those eyes. Some tepid tea-bags resting on the eyes would reduce the puffiness and the appearance of those lines... very soothing, as well... you look as though you could use some... soothing..."

Frank cleared his throat uncomfortably. His eyes drifted toward Horatio and he caught the glint of amusement in the lieutenant's own. "My eyes are just fine."

"Well, as you wish. But I am certain Colette could work wonders... if you have the time..."

Suddenly, a breathtaking beauty entered the sitting room. "Miss Faraday? You wished to see me?" asked the young woman in cultured tones.

"Yes, Alice... please have a seat."

Horatio and Frank regarded the young woman with surprise. Alice, also known as 'Bliss,' was young, statuesque... and African-American. Her skin was a deep ebony, her eyes almost black, and her full lips were a vivid, natural ruby red. Elegant, sculpted cheekbones and short, curly black hair accentuated the beauty of her arresting, liquid black eyes. This was definitely not the woman caught on the surveillance tapes.

"Alice, dear, this is Lieutenant Caine and Detective Tripp of the Miami Dade Police. They have rather distressing news..."

Alice looked at the gentlemen, a curious, expectant look on her face.

"Miss Smith, Saturday morning Joseph Christensen was found murdered in his hotel room at the Excelsior Hotel," said Horatio, studying the young woman for her reaction.

"Oh no," she cried softly. "Not Joseph! Who would hurt that dear man?"

"I take it you liked him a great deal?"

"Of course... who wouldn't like Joseph? Always so kind, so gallant."

"Miss Smith," continued Frank, "we understand you saw Christensen quite often when he was in Miami. Can you tell us about that?"

The beautiful girl hesitated and looked toward Faraday, who nodded. Understanding that Faraday was giving her permission to speak candidly, she said, "He was a lonely man... apparently, he and his wife were estranged. I don't think she understood him."

"That's original," muttered Frank, under his breath.

Unperturbed, Alice continued speaking. "He ran a successful operation... retail stores of some sort. Married when he was young... his wife was quite a bit older than he. I gathered her father owned the original store and Joseph took over the operation when he married the daughter, and then expanded it. His was a marriage of... convenience."

"He told you all this? Are all of your johns so chatty during pillow talk?" asked Frank.

"Detective, please!" said Eleanor Faraday, angered by the term 'johns.' "If you can't be civil, I shall ask you to leave now."

"I don't think so," said Horatio calmly. "We can discuss this here... or you and Miss Smith can pay a visit to police headquarters. This isn't a social call, ma'am - and I don't think you want the publicity that a visit to headquarters would provide for a hungry press."

Eleanor's aggrieved umbrage subsided. She decided to bide her time; if the officers gave her too much trouble, she could call in a favor or two. She had friends in high places who could take care of two lowly civil servants. She decided to be gracious... Besides, she knew Alice had nothing to hide.

"Lieutenant," said Alice, "part of my time with the gentlemen I see is spent in conversation. These men are lonely, and under a lot of pressure. When we spend time together, I try to get them to relax by asking them about themselves... encouraging them to tell me about their lives. It makes them feel more comfortable. These are not men who are just looking for sex; they are looking for companionship... for a little playacting... and sometimes they have special needs and desires that I try to fulfill for them.

"Did Mr. Christensen have 'special needs?' " asked Horatio.

Bliss paused, and Horatio sensed she did not want to share the information with them.

"Please, Miss Smith... you're not in any trouble... and this is very important," he said softly. "We believe we have a serial killer in Miami. The person who killed Mr. Christensen has killed others, and did so in a formulaic manner. If you can tell us anything about his... desires... it may help us figure out who is doing this."

Alice sighed uneasily. "You must understand... I liked Joseph. What I am going to tell you may sound... strange... but as men's needs go, it wasn't all that peculiar."

Horatio and Frank looked at her expectantly.

Taking a deep breath, she continued. "He... ah... liked me to dress up for him."

"How so?"

"He liked me to dress up like a little girl... he used to ask me to wear a little girl's school uniform... short pleated skirt, knee socks, loafers. He... he'd ask me to call him 'Daddy' - and then he'd ask me to say certain things to him... titillating things... to excite him... and then touch him, all the while telling him he was a very bad 'Daddy.' It never took much time... he'd reach fulfillment rather quickly...

"Really, it was quite harmless. I've had stranger requests."

Frank leaned in toward Horatio and muttered, "Feel like I could use a bath right now."

Horatio agreed, but said nothing.

"Miss Smith, did Mr. Christensen ever mention if he had children?"

"I know he did not. He and his wife were unable to have children - as I said, she was older than he was. He is close to his nephew... will probably bring him into the business since he has no children... at least that had been his intention... while alive..."

Horatio reached into his folder and pulled out a photo of the first murder victim, Jefferson Carter. "Is this man familiar to you?"

Alice and Eleanor looked at the photo. "No," said Faraday. "I've never seen this man before. He is not one of our clients."

Horatio looked at Alice hard.

"Lieutenant, I would tell you if I knew this man. I do not," she said.

Horatio rose. "Okay, ladies. Thank you for your time. No trips outside Miami for awhile... we may have additional questions down the road."

Faraday smiled graciously, if a trifle wintry. "We are happy to help you, Lieutenant. We think of it as our... civic duty."

Frank smirked. "I'm sure you do."

* * *

Horatio raised his head from his paperwork and yawned. He turned and looked outside the office window behind his chair. _When did it get so dark?_ he wondered, noting that the earlier gray 'soup' of the day had transformed into a misty darkness. He glanced at his watch and noticed it was 8:30 p.m.

Indecisively, he glanced at the paperwork still remaining in the inbox on his desk. He was tempted to dig back into it, but then decided to call it a day. It was late and he was tired; it could all wait another day. As he gathered up the papers on his desk, his eyes fell upon the folder containing the images gleaned from the Excelsior's surveillance cameras, and his thoughts drifted back to the conversation with Alice Smith.

Her admission that Joseph Christensen had liked her to dress up as a young girl and call him 'daddy' had disturbed Horatio. It reeked of sexual perversion... and perhaps child abuse. On the one hand, he had been relieved to learn that Christensen had no children; but had there been a girl child, it might have been a reason for his murder... vengeance against a father. But then, that didn't explain the previous victim... there had been no relationship between Christensen and Carter. The only similarities thus far were race, age... and a prosperous standing in the community.

Horatio leaned back in his chair and thoughtfully chewed on the end of the ballpoint pen he had been using to sign off on his paperwork. He wondered again about the figure in the surveillance photos... he had been surprised upon meeting Alice to learn that she wasn't the girl in the photos. He had been hoping to wrap up the case and that would have been the easy connection.

_There is something about that figure in the photos_, he thought, _but what? There is no evidence to tie the subject to the murder that we can find at present... so why am I so focused on her? Is it because of her lack of suitable dress? The sunglasses? The incongruity of such a figure being in a hotel like the Excelsior? Enough reason to arouse suspicion, I suppose._

The shrill, abrupt ringing of the phone on Horatio's desk suddenly shattered the quiet stillness of the office.

" Horatio Caine here..."

"Ain't surprised to hear that, you gloomy ol' sum-a-bitch," bluntly answered a rough, deep voice with a heavy Southern accent. "Late evenin' and you're still sittin' at a desk. No surprise a'tall. So, you still leavin' that ol' pecker of yours inside your pants rather then lettin' the poor bastard out on occasion?"

Suddenly a wide grin appeared on Horatio's face, and he twirled his chair around toward the window so that he could face the darkness outside his office. He'd recognized the distinctive voice and its owner's colorful vulgarisms immediately.

"Well, well... isn't this a surprise... Beauregard Maurice Renaud." He allowed a warm and affectionate sarcasm to enter his voice. "_Beauregard Maurice_, such a fine name... you sure your mother wasn't a comedian, _Beauregard Maurice_?"

"That's Beau Renaud to _you_, ya little pissant. And anyone sportin' a name like _Horatio_ ain't got no place pissin' on my parade."

Horatio winced, but couldn't help grinning at Beau's picturesque speech. He suddenly had a vivid picture of the old man on the other end of the line, and Horatio's eyes lit with warmth. It had been a long time since he'd talked to the man who'd once served as mentor to him when he was undercover in Pensacola years ago. His mind's eye conjured up the older man.

Last time he'd seen Beau Renaud, the man had just retired from police work, and had put on enough weight that the term 'corpulent' was a kindness. Once, like Horatio, he'd had vivid red hair and snapping blue eyes. Over time, the hair had turned a dull white and the once arresting blue eyes had faded - but the intelligence behind the eyes hadn't dimmed. Woe to the man who underestimated Beau Renaud. Beau was nobody's fool, but he assumed a 'good ol' boy' routine to hide his shrewd intelligence and take advantage of those who were pompous or naive enough to take his act at face value. Horatio had seen behind the act from the start, and had respected the older man a great deal - as well as learned a lot from him.

One thing that hadn't changed over the years was Beau's mouth - he had a 'charming' way with conversation - a manner of speaking that could reduce a seasoned sailer to blushing like a fifteen-year old virgin. But behind the gruff vulgarity was a heart that was true, a wily brain that thought outside the box, and a desire for justice that was as strong and unrelenting as Horatio's own.

"Beau Renaud," mused Horatio, "been a long time since I heard your redneck voice. Your wife run off and leave you yet for a man who can still get it up?"

Horatio was gratified to hear a bellow of rough laughter from the other end of the line.

"Don'tcha worry 'bout my woman, boy. That little lady gets down on her knees ever' night just thanking the Almighty that he saw fit to bless her with a real man who knows what to do with the equipment the good Lord gave 'im!"

That made Horatio laugh. "Beau, I _have_ missed you. It's been too long... what, five years at least?"

"Closer to ten than five... I've missed you, too, boy."

Touched, Horatio smiled. "Time has a way of slipping away from us, doesn't it?"

"It do, it do," agreed Renaud. "I've been keeping tabs on you, though... _Lieutenant_. You happy in your work?"

"I am... the job has its moments... good and bad."

"Yeah... I remember." Horatio could hear a quiet, resigned sorrow in the older man's voice. He'd been retired for over ten years now, if Horatio's memory was correct, but he didn't sound particularly happy about it. _Gets into your blood and it's hard to let go_, he remembered the old man saying to him when he retired. _Don't be like me, Horatio... make sure there is more to your life than just the job..._

The memory bit at Horatio and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "So, Beau... I'm glad to hear from you, but... did you call to reminisce... or is there something in particular that you wanted to discuss with me?"

Renaud hesitated for a moment, and then, quietly, said, "Hear you got a case goin' on down there... one awful familiar to me."

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen - Oddities

Beau Renaud sighed, and all traces of humor left his voice as he repeated to Horatio, "Hear y'all got yourselves a case that's left you with two dead bodies... and not a whole hell of a lot to go on."

Horatio's attention crystallized as he listened to Renaud's words, and he held the phone closer to his ear. "How do you know about this, Beau?" he asked, his voice urgent. "You must have damned good sources... How does a man retired from the force and living in Pensacola know what's going on in Miami?"

Horatio couldn't quite keep the annoyance out of his voice. His people had been trying to keep the recent murders quiet, only providing information on a 'need to know' basis, and restricting their inquiries and theories to law enforcement contacts in Miami and the Sheriff's Office in Montgomery, Alabama. Until he was certain of the facts, Horatio wanted to avoid igniting widespread fear and worry that an interstate serial killer might be on the loose in Miami. He found it chilling to consider the panic that would ensue if rumors got out about a connection between the unsolved murders in both states.

Worried about the leak of information, he wondered, _Is it time for a press conference?_ He had wanted to avoid talking to the press until absolutely necessary - had hoped, in fact, the case would be solved before the press became interested in it. It had been his experience that no good ever came from dealing with the press - especially when it involved a crime that had sensational elements. Rubbing his hand across the tired lines in his forehead, Horatio thought, _I can see the headlines now - 'Bobbysox Killer Terrorizes Miami!'_

His thoughts centered again on Renaud as he heard his former mentor clear his throat. In his mind's eye, Horatio could see the old man shrugging as he replied noncommittally, "I keep up. I've got friends... and some of them are still in Alabama. You might be surprised to know the things I hear."

Beau's throwaway remark about Alabama caught Horatio by surprise. _So, the information had leaked out!_ "Is that so? Just what do you hear?"

"It's a long story... if you've got the time. It might require that you suspend your disbelief. I know you, Horatio... your strength is _also_ your weakness, boy."

"My strength?" A slight smile found its way to Horatio's lips, and his grim expression briefly lightened. In spite of his irritation that the information about the murders in Miami had leaked out, he found himself unable to smother a grin at Renaud's calling him 'boy'... it took him back to those old days in Pensacola when, indeed, to Renaud he had been a bit wet behind the ears.

As if he knew what Horatio was thinking, Renaud continued. "Don't get all defensive with me, son. I'm just telling you what you need to hear. That strong faith you put in science - well, it's a strength; got you where you are... but a good cop sometimes needs to consider the unscientific. You think you can do that, boy?"

Horatio felt himself growing impatient with the old man's inability to cut to the chase. _Is he starting to lose it?_ wondered Horatio briefly, and then quickly suppressed the disloyal thought. "Why don't you try me, Beau," he said quietly. "Just spit it out."

Renaud took a deep breath and then began. " 'bout several years back, I began receiving letters and messages on my answering machine from a woman by the name of Rhea Brody. In her letters, she told me she had been having visions, dreams... bad ones. Told me when she had dreams like that, it was a sign something bad was about to go down. See, Horatio, Rhea claimed to have the 'gift.' "

Renaud picked up on the strained silence from Horatio's end of the line. Finally, Horatio asked, "The 'gift'? As in the gift of second-sight?"

"Hmm hmm... that's what she was claiming."

_Oh, Christ_, thought Horatio. _Is Beau losing his marbles or is this part of some elaborate practical joke?_ Horatio didn't know which was worse... thinking his former mentor might be 'having one on him' or contemplating the possible mental deterioration of an old friend. Sadly, he realized that while Renaud loved a practical joke - and didn't mind if it embarrassed others - he never joked about cases... and certainly not murder. That left Horatio with the unpleasant thought that his friend might be suffering a break with reality.

Again, Renaud seemed to pick up on Horatio's unspoken thoughts. "Hey, _Lieutenant_... hear me out 'fore you go makin' up your mind, okay?" complained Renaud, his voice indignant and lingering meaningfully on the title of 'lieutenant'. "I was solving murder cases when your mama was changing your shitty diapers!"

Realizing he'd hurt the old man, Horatio said, "Okay, Beau. I'm listening. But you know as well I do that people who claim to have second sight and extrasensory knowledge about murders are generally full of crap... they're like ambulance-chasers at the scene of an accident... or civilians with 'wanna-be' cop fantasies. They do more to hinder an investigation than help... and, somehow, it always gets leaked to the press when one of these charlatans gets involved with a case. I don't like it."

"I didn't ask you to like it... I asked you to listen... and so far, all you've done is run your mouth. I thought I'd taught you better..."

Again a slight smile flirted about the corners of Horatio's lips. "Fair enough, you old bastard. Okay, I'm listening; go ahead."

Mollified, Renaud continued. "As I said, I was receiving letters from this Brody woman. In them letters, she told me she'd been having visions... dreams... 'the kind you have when you're awake' was the way she put it. Said she kept seeing images of a man being murdered. She told me those images were pretty foggy and very few details could be pulled from 'em. Thing that seemed to stand out in her mind was the letter 'M' - a big ol 'M' in red, with the letter slowly dissolving, dripping... like it was blood."

" 'M' as in murder?"

"Maybe; maybe not... I later found out the locale where the murders took place also began with an 'M'. The lady said there was one thing that bothered her most - she kept hearing some kid singing a nursery rhyme, and then would get a flash of some guy on his back with marks - sizzle marks - all over his body... then nothin'... just the sound of that kid singin' her song."

" '_Her_'? She said the child was a girl?"

"Yeah... pretty emphatic on that point, too. Anyways, she said she would sorta 'come to' after such a vision with one word in her head, clear as anything."

"Don't keep me in suspense, Beau... what word was that?" asked Horatio shortly, his patience strained.

" 'Justice.' Just that word, boy: JUSTICE."

Horatio said nothing for a moment, thinking about the 'sizzle' marks... _cigarette burns?_

"You know, son, I've had my share of crazies over the years... and I regret having to tell you that I just shoved those letters from Rhea Brody into a file I kept for such things. I call it the 'CRAZIES' file. Long story short, I never responded to the woman and after several months, she stopped calling and writing... and I forgot all about her. God knows, the crackpots always manage to find us... so, at the time, I shared your misgivings.

"After a while, I forgot all about her... Then one day Hank Thurston stopped by the house. You recollect Hank?"

"Can't say I do," remarked Horatio.

"Hmpf... Thurston was the sheriff of the county in 'Bama where the murders first occurred - Montgomery. He was down in Pensacola on business and stopped by the house to say hello to me and Mary. Me and Hank go way back... worked together on a case years ago. Well, boy, you know how it is when two old cops get together: they talk shop. And that's what we did.

"This was during the height of the murder scare in Montgomery... 'fore it seemed to suddenly die out. Thurston was feeling heat from the community because several of the local big wigs were found murdered... and his office couldn't ID the perp. As we were talkin', he described the crime scene to me: always the same... mutilation of the victim, burns all over the body, including on some areas you wouldn't want anything hot touchin'... Mentioned other things like the bodies being left in shameful disarray. And there was always this: a kid's sock stuffed into the victim's throat. The crimes had definite sexual overtones and suggested a single murderer, one filled with rage. Anyway, after he left, somethin' kept naggin' at me, but I couldn't quite figure out what it was.

"So hours later, there I was, laying in bed, nice and close to Mary, and drifting off... and I have this crazy dream."

"Yeah?" asked Horatio, impatient and irritated with where this was going. "Mary cook you a bad meal, give you a touch of indigestion?"

"Don't be a smart ass, Lieutenant," replied Renaud, undeterred by Horatio's apparent disdain for what he was hearing. "I kept tossin' and turnin' and suddenly this big ol 'M' appears in front of my eyes... in my dream, that is. Well, boy, lemme tell you, I suddenly woke up and realized what it was that had been bothering me since Thurston left. It just sorta hit me... that crazy woman sendin' me all those damned letters and leavin' me messages...

"I jumped outta that bed and went lookin' for the 'CRAZIES' file, and then pulled those letters and started readin 'em... I mean, _really_ readin' em for the first time. And it hit me that her visions had been pretty damned close to the crime scene details... close enough by God to have finally caught this good ol boy's attention.

"So I called her up... two o'clock in the mornin' and I called that lady up." A snort of comical laugher bubbled over the telephone line. "Figured if she had the 'gift,' she'd know I'd be calling, right? Figured her to be sitting right there by that phone, just waiting on me."

"And was she?" asked Horatio.

"Hell, no... woke her up out of a sound sleep. Told her who I was and said I wanted to ask her some questions... first one bein' why she chose _me_ to contact..."

Horatio wanted to know the answer to that question, as well.

"Turns out she saw me on television... one of them documentary / reality shows."

"You? You've got to be kidding me, Beau... when did _you_ become a reality star?"

"Boy, you not gettin' enough lately? Is that why you're bein' such a smart ass?" Horatio heard the old man chuckle, and he could tell Renaud was not as annoyed as his humorous rebuke seemed to indicate.

"It turned out," continued the old man, "that some hotshot Geraldo type heard I used to have a certain expertise in, uh, handling nasty cases, and he was putting together a show about an unsolved murder from years ago in Baton Rouge, Louisiana; that boy had dug up some of the particulars of the case, and wanted to exploit the public's fascination with gruesome crimes. Apparently, your ol friend here is now considered the go-to guy for shedding light on the motivations of killers in these sorts of police matters. Anyways, I spent a few hours with him and his people, telling them what I knew about such cases... and all the while, they was filming me. That was my TV career... short and sweet - and nothin' special."

"But special enough to grab this lady's attention," reflected Horatio. "So, based on a docudrama this woman starts trying to contact you, writing you letters about visions she's had of murders... Christ, Beau! I can't even say it with a straight face! You think she was having visions of the murders in Alabama?"

"I do."

"Do you know how nutty this sounds, Renaud? Back in the day, you would have kicked the ass of any cop who even suggested something like this!"

"Yeah... well, I'm a little wiser... and a lot older... and maybe things ain't as black and white as we'd like to think, Horatio. I'm a little more open to possibilities now. Especially after reading the letters again, and learning what had happened in Montgomery. And don't forget that 'M' in bloody red."

" 'M' ... as in Montgomery? Montgomery, Alabama? C'mon, Beau... this is all coincidence. Nothing really solid here."

"Okay, then here's somethin' else," Renaurd said, and Horatio was suddenly struck by the reluctance in the old man's voice.

"I... uh... well, I went to see that lady, Horatio. She wasn't nothin' like I expected her to be... I expected some weird broad... you know, some crazy crackpot dressed in black with a crystal ball in her back room. Instead, she was real warm, friendly... but kind of penetrating. A little tense, too. Like she needed to tell me about things, but really didn't want to... I don't know how to put it. Anyway, we went over the letters, and some additional thoughts she had. She shared as how she had a good feelin' about me that made her trust that she could talk about her visions with me. I was startin' to believe her, Horatio, but not totally convinced. And then something happened."

Horatio sat up in his chair. What had made the crusty old man suddenly a believer in what Horatio dismissed as smoke and mirrors?

"As I was leaving her house," Renaud continued, "I noticed she was lookin' at my hand - the one with the weddin' ring on it. It was kinda creepin' me out, if you wanna know the truth. Then she asks me if she could hold my hand for a moment. I didn't know what to say, but I let her do it. And as she held my hand, she started lightly rubbing the ring on my finger, and all the time there was a frown on her face.

"I was definitely feelin' uneasy at this point, and asked her if somethin' was wrong. And here's the thing, boy: she looked up at me with the kindest look in her eyes. I'll never forget those eyes... or that warm look... like she was seeing me real deep inside, and wanting to... make something right that seemed to be wrong.

"She said, 'Mr. Renaud, you're happily married, aren't you? What's your wife's name?' I told her it was 'Mary.' And she said, 'When you go home tonight, you tell Mary how much you love her... and you make sure she keeps that doctor's appointment. Okay? _You make sure._'

"Now, I didn't know a damned thing about any doctor's appointment, but something about that woman's intensity scared me.

"I didn't wait 'til I got home, Horatio. I went out to my car and before I drove off that woman's property, I called home and got Mary on the line and I asked her right out if she had any doctor's appointment scheduled...

"Horatio..." The old man paused, his voice rough and shaky. "Horatio, my Mary just startin' cryin' over the phone... seems she'd found a lump in her breast... and was scared... real scared. Had made herself an appointment to see the doc, but was thinkin' maybe she wouldn't keep it, that maybe that ol lump would go away on its own.

"Well, I felt like a ghost had suddenly sat down next to me in that car while I listened to my old gal cry about that lump. I looked out the window and noticed Rhea Brody starin' out her front door, just a'watchin' me... when I looked at her, she just nodded at me, and then closed her door.

"Horatio, Mary kept that doctor's appointment; turned out she had a bad cancer that could have taken her fast... but instead, we caught it in time. But you know, boy... Mary hadn't intended to tell me... wasn't even gonna keep that appointment."

Horatio and Beau were both silent for several moments.

Not knowing how to begin, Horatio cleared his throat. "Look, Beau, I'm glad that Mary is going to be okay... but, my friend, you can't really believe that this woman knew... that she..." Horatio didn't know how to continue.

"What I know, son, is that my wife is _alive_ today, and she might not be if that woman hadn't told me to make sure my wife kept a doctor's appointment."

Horatio said nothing.

The old man sighed. "Well, your reaction is just about what I received from Hank Thurston when I tried to call him about my meeting with Rhea. I tried to convince him to talk with her... share some of the evidence with her... I told him about the letters... about Mary. Nothing doing - he wasn't having any of it... anyway, by then, the murders had stopped, and Thurston wasn't going to risk his reputation talkin' to some psychic.

"I dunno... maybe I was him back then, I'da felt the same damn way," said Renaud wearily.

"What do you want from me, Beau?" asked Horatio quietly after a moment had passed.

"I want you to read the letters... then I want you to talk to this woman. You'll be surprised; I was. She ain't the fruitcake you're thinkin'. She might even have something to help you out with them murders in Miami... might even help prevent another one."

The last thing Horatio wanted to do was talk to some woman who was either pulling a con or who actually believed she was psychic. He'd heard stories of psychics who assisted in police investigations, but he didn't like the idea. Horatio thought such people were bottom-feeders for a sick industry that preyed upon the desperate and those naive enough to believe in fairy tales and magic. It bothered him that his old friend was urging this on him; _what had happened to Beau?_ It disturbed Horatio that Beau Renaud, seasoned cop and tough cynic, had been taken in by someone who was most likely a charlatan. The story about Mary Renaud had not impressed him; he knew that many a self-styled psychic's prognostications were just clever guesses based on outward appearances.

"Look, Beau, I don't think this is really my thing. As you said, my strength is science. I rely on evidence - evidence I can see, test, evaluate. All you have are some letters from a woman who thinks she is seeing murders. You can find people like this all around you. When I was with the NYPD, we'd have 'em sitting out in the hallways, trying to corner us and tell us some wild, fabricated tale -"

"Horatio," interrupted Renaud, "I think I also said your _weakness_ was science. Now, I trained you to look outside the box, ain't that right?"

"This isn't looking outside the box, Beau; it's indulging in make-believe."

"Look, just read the damned letters. See what you think."

"Beau..."

Renaud angrily stopped him. "You owe me, boy..."

That was true, and it pulled Horatio up short. If he owed anybody, it was Renaud. When Horatio left the NYPD and went down to Pensacola on an undercover assignment, it was the old man who taught the New York kid how to relate to people down south. It had been a whole new universe to a fellow who had grown up in the grubby streets of New York. The gruff, foul-mouthed Renaud had taken an immediate liking to Horatio. He had seen something in the young man that touched him, and he helped smooth the waters for the novice Floridian. Many a night Horatio had sat at the Renauds' dinner table when he had nothing else to do - and no one else to share his time with. They had been kind to him; looked out for him. And it had been Beau who had seen him through the volatile romance with Julia and then helped him through the rough days that followed her inexplicable disappearance from his life.

"You still there, son?" asked the quiet voice. Like Horatio, Renaud had just taken a quick, inward journey through the years.

"Okay, Beau," replied Horatio, a tone of weary resignation in his voice. "You've got me. You don't have me _fairly_, but you do have me. Send copies of the letters to my private email account - I'm not ready for this to hit my office quite yet."

"And you'll go see her, right?" asked Beau pointedly, "Not just read the letters."

"Yes, yes," said Horatio impatiently, already regretting his promise to the old man.

Renaud seemed satisfied and a relieved sigh escaped him. "Good. Now, there's something else..."

_Christ! What now?_

"Why is a healthy young man like you still sitting in a chair in your office this late at night? Your equipment still workin,' boy?"

In spite of himself, Horatio grinned. There wasn't anyone quite like Beauregard Maurice Renaud. One minute, Horatio would like to slug the old man; and in the next, laugh at some outrageous remark made by him. He was incorrigible; always was, and always would be. "Don't worry about me, old man. If that was your charming way of asking about my sex life, you don't need to be concerning yourself."

"Well, that's just fine, then. You just make sure you got _someone_ concernin' themselves 'bout it. You understand me, boy?"

"I understand... and everything is good on that end. Look, you give my regards to Mary, you sweet bastard."

"I will... and, Horatio, you come see me sometime, okay? Life's too short... I wouldn't mind seein' you show up on my doorstep some fine summer's day."

Horatio smiled. "It's a promise."

He hung up the phone and continued to look out the glass at the Miami night, enjoying the expanse of sparkling lights from many of the high-rise buildings. Miami. _His_ city. Now - and forever - his home. A long journey for a boy from a crappy area in New York City... and what a journey! So many experiences... so many stories... so many people. People like Renaud, who'd touched his life… and continued to have some pull on him.

"Hey, Horatio..."

Horatio twirled his chair around to face the doorway and saw Frank standing there.

"Frank, what are you still doing here? It's - " Horatio looked down at his watch and was surprised to see it was after nine o'clock. "It's really late."

Frank grimaced. "Too many cases, too little time. And all the damned paperwork that goes with 'em." Frank's face brightened. "You want to stop and have a beer before heading home?"

Horatio gathered up the paperwork and put it inside a drawer, and then locked his desk. "Sounds like an excellent idea. Let's go."

They left the office and stopped in front of the elevator. As they waited for it to arrive, Horatio commented, "You're probably going to need that beer..."

Frank looked at him quizzically.

"We're going to be making a visit tomorrow afternoon or the next to someone who, ah, might have some information about the Suxamenthonium murders." Horatio still couldn't bring himself to refer to the case as the 'Bobbysox Murders.' He knew the designation was being used by most of his team at this point; but it still bothered him. The idea of the little white socks bothered him... more than he let on.

"Well, Horatio, spit it out," said Frank impatiently. "What's up? I'm not psychic, you know..."

As they stepped into the elevator, Horatio grinned as he looked at his friend. Just before the doors closed, he said, "Funny you'd say that, Frank, because..."

* * *

The guard sitting at the front desk looked up from the magazine he was reading as the sound of an appalled voice bellowed out of an elevator whose door had just opened. A discomfited Frank Tripp looked at Horatio Caine with astonishment. "We're going _where_ tomorrow? Jesus, Horatio! What's next... sacrificial goats and prayers to the God of Thunder?!"

Lieutenant Caine looked over at the paunchy, bald-headed guard with the steel gray mustache as he and the detective passed by. "Goodnight, Andy."

The old, former cop from New York, now working the night shift at the front desk of the MDPD Crime Lab, nodded as he watched the two men pass. An impassive look was on the old man's face; he was used to seeing these two men leaving late at night. Inwardly, he took amused notice of the slight smile on the Lieutenant's face as he listened to his blustering colleague.

"Calm down, Francis. It's just repayment of an old favor."

"This is just plain weird, Horatio, but it's your party. Come on, let's go get that bourbon."

Horatio grinned. "Beer, Frank; you said 'beer.' "

"Yeah," said the disgruntled detective, "well, that was before you told me we're going to be taking a trip into the _Twilight Zone_."

Andy watched the two men as they exited the building, and then looked down at his magazine. _Funny thing_, he thought, _that lieutenant reminds me of someone I used to know... but who? _ Failing to make the connection, he shrugged his shoulders, and returned to reading his magazine.

* * *

"Maxine! Maxine, wait!"

Valera turned to face the receptionist at the front desk. "What is it, Janine?"

"I was told to give you a message when you arrived," she replied, studying Valera intently. "From Lieutenant Caine."

Valera frowned. It was her first day back to work after several days of absence, and the overeager look on Janine's face as she handed her the message annoyed Valera... there was something about the receptionist that Valera didn't like. Paula had been a busybody, but this woman seemed to have the look of a cat who swallowed a canary.

Valera scanned the brief message and her frown deepened. Horatio wanted to see her as soon as she arrived. Now what was that all about? She was seldom summoned to the boss' office. She sighed. _What now?_

She looked up from the note to see that Janine was still studying her. "Something wrong, Janine?" she asked, annoyed.

"You'd be the best judge of that... you don't look well, Maxine. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," snapped Valera. She hated people to fuss.

Turning on her heel, she walked quickly toward the open elevator. As she stepped inside, she saw Bobbi Russell standing there. "Well, Maxine, I sure am glad to see you! No offense, but I have been doing double duty the past few days - your work and my own. I feel like I'm drowning!"

Feeling guilty and embarrassed, Valera replied, "I'm sorry, Bobbi. I just felt rotten... I'll make it up to you, okay?"

"You bet you will," said Bobbi cheerfully. "I'm thinking about taking an extended weekend next month... and guess who will be filling in for me while I'm enjoying the Keys?"

Valera groaned. "I can guess."

The elevator doors opened to the fifth floor and Valera stepped out.

"Hey," said Bobbi, "where are you headed? This isn't our floor!"

"Yeah, I know," muttered Valera. As the doors closed behind her, Valera took a deep breath and headed toward Horatio's office.

* * *

Across town, someone else was taking a deep breath as he stood outside an office door. Finally, he screwed up his courage and quickly knocked twice against the dull frosted glass with his knuckles.

The gruff voice inside called out, "Come in, come in."

The young man drew another deep breath and opened the door. He walked inside and greeted the gray-haired, somewhat grizzled man sitting at a desk. "Sir, Private Kyle Harmon," he said nervously. "We have an appointment... to talk."

TBC


	15. Chapter 15

A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.  
~ Lao-tzu, _The Way of Lao-tzu_

Chapter Fifteen - Journeys

Kyle paused in the doctor's doorway, gazing uncertainly at the beefy man standing before him; now that he was actually here, doubt assailed him. _Could he go through with this first visit?_ The strong features and stern expression on Doctor Shapiro's face made him wonder just what he was getting himself into.

"Have a seat, soldier," barked the doctor, his raspy voice making Kyle momentarily wince. Finally, the young man swung forward on his crutches, heading toward the chair indicated by Shapiro. Gracelessly, he eased himself down and placed the crutches on the floor next to the chair. His eyes glanced briefly about the office, noting the Army commendations and medical diplomas hanging on the walls, and his face assumed a mocking, guarded expression. Cautiously, he watched the gray-haired man expectantly, waiting to see what he would do to initiate the session.

Shapiro sat down across from him and opened a file he held in his hands. Silently, he perused a page from within. Several long seconds passed, and then he looked up at Kyle, appearing to study him, and waited for the young man to begin. After a moment, Kyle did just that, uncomfortable with the silence in the room.

"Well... aren't you supposed to say something? You know, to get me talking about the stuff that's bothering me?" asked Kyle, a hint of irritation in his tone.

Shapiro's intelligent hazel eyes blazed with humor and his expression softened somewhat. "I suppose I am, but since you opened the conversational door, soldier, why don't you start? And you can begin by telling me about that _stuff_ that is bothering you."

Annoyed, Kyle replied, "And you can begin by not calling me _soldier_."

"Really? You addressed yourself as "Private Harmon" when you walked into my office. You still _are_ a soldier, correct?"

"Only for a few weeks more... until my enlistment period is over. And based on that file you have in your hands, which is probably about me, you know that. So let's not play games.

"I didn't re-up for another tour... good thing, as it turns out. I don't know many soldiers serving with one leg... The last thing I want is to be a desk-jockey stuck in a military office, clerking for some officer who has delusions that he's another Patton. Met enough of them in the field... Anyway, that's all the military could offer me at this point, some desk job."

"Okay," said Shapiro good-naturedly, "we'll dispense with both 'Private Harmon' and 'soldier.' Mind if I call you by your first name?"

Kyle shrugged noncommittally.

"Okay, then 'Kyle' it is. Well, Kyle, it's apparent you've met some officers you don't have much respect for - is that one of the reasons you decided not to re-enlist?"

Again, Kyle shrugged. "I've seen courage - real courage... not the kind shown by guys who like to wear shiny medals. And I've seen it shown by men who don't wear military uniforms... in fact, most of them don't."

Shapiro leaned back in his chair, and began to play with the cap on his fountain pen while continuing to watch the young man closely. "Okay. Give me a 'for example.'"

Kyle's brows drew together and, frowning, he replied, "My father, for one."

"Oh, yes," mused Shapiro. "The police lieutenant."

"Don't say it like that!"

"Like what?" Shapiro was caught off-guard by the vehemence in the young man's voice.

"Like you're dismissing him!" said Kyle angrily. "He isn't military, but my father faces the enemy in the streets of Miami everyday. He's not some fat cop who sits in a squad car, eating jelly donuts. He puts himself in harm's way - and he makes decisions that send his people into the line of fire. He has to make the tough calls - and he willingly bears the consequences of them. That's leadership - and I haven't met one officer in the time I've been in the Army who has half the guts he has... or commitment to his people."

"Hmm... you seem proud of him. You admire your father?"

"Of course, I do," replied Kyle shortly. "He's a hero. Possibly the greatest man I've ever known.

"Don't you watch the news? He's always on the news. Just last year he was wounded on the job, yet still managed to save one of his team. He almost died trying to save her. He's a stand-up guy; you can depend on him... that he's got your back.

"That's more than I can say for the politicians and would-be generals who are prosecuting this war."

Shapiro nodded and noted Kyle's words about his father. _Hero worship?_

Kyle pursed his lips and shook his head, thinking about his experiences with the Army brass. "You gotta ask yourself about the point of it all - risking your life, seeing your pals hurt or worse... and for what? For desk-jockeys in Washington who spin fairytales about the war for a disinterested public. Christ."

"Sounds like you've got a lot of anger inside, Kyle."

"Yeah... I've got anger all right - plenty of it; what I don't have is a leg. Not anymore. Left that behind in Afghanistan... a little parting gift from me to the friendly people who set those IEDs."

Shapiro frowned, his brow troubled. He sensed the distress hiding behind the young man's flippant words and cavalier attitude. He also suspected that while Kyle talked a good game, he hadn't yet come to grips with the fact that he was an amputee. Deciding to risk angering the boy in an effort to see what lay behind the mask, he leaned forward and gazed at him levelly. "That's right. You don't," he said flatly.

"Don't? Don't what?"

"You don't have a leg. I'm agreeing with you. That's right."

Confused by Shapiro's unemotional response, Kyle looked at him askance. "_That's right?... That's right?_ - is that all of you've got to say?" he asked angrily.

The doctor looked at him intently. "What do you want me to say, Kyle? You said you don't have a leg. Well, you're right. You don't. You're not going to grow another leg. It's gone. The Kyle Harmon who had two working legs is gone. He doesn't exist anymore. And he isn't coming back. It's time you accepted that. Saying you no longer have a leg isn't good enough - you're going to have to _believe_ it. I'm not sure you do. Not yet. And I think that is one of the reasons you haven't begun using the prosthetic leg you were fitted with. You think this is all just a temporary... situation... that one day, you're going to wake up and you'll be the Kyle Harmon you were before that IED went off. That's not going to happen. This is your new reality. Get used to it."

"Well, that's just fine," said Kyle furiously, "I thought you were supposed to make me feel better, not worse."

Shapiro watched him impassively, unimpressed with the young man's anger. "I'm not here to feed you pablum, _soldier_. I'm here to help you view yourself and your life - your possibilities - realistically. And the first thing for you to understand, _soldier_, is that your leg is gone and it isn't coming back. Not tomorrow. Not next week. Not next year. And neither is the life you had before."

Tears of rage pricked Kyle's eyes. "You think I don't understand that? You think I don't know I'm a goddamn cripple? You think I don't know that my life is screwed? I know it, Doctor, I damn well understand it - I understand it every time I look down at my lap and see that missing leg. Every damn time I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror. Every time I try to get out of bed and have to look for those damn crutches. Who the hell are you to tell me I don't get it! I get it, doctor! I get it - and I didn't need to come here and have you toss psychobabble shit at me about not accepting my leg is gone! Damn you!"

Infuriated, Kyle leaned forward, attempting to reach for the crutches laying next to the chair. He'd be damned if he'd sit in this office any longer, listening to this ass state the obvious. _This is what his father had thought so important that he hear? This is the doctor he'd been impressed with? Who the hell was this quack to tell him that he didn't accept the loss of his leg!_

Kyle attempted to rise to his feet, his anger and frustration making him awkward, but a compassionate hand softly touched his wrist, and sought to restrain him. With gentle force, Shapiro eased Kyle back into the chair.

"Relax, Kyle. Go on, put the crutches down. Calm down, son. Just sit back and relax for a few minutes. It's okay, son, it's okay." Shapiro's gruff voice gentled as he tried to soothe the overwrought young man.

After the emotional outburst, Kyle felt himself deflating, much like a sharply pricked balloon whose air was slowly escaping. Disconsolately, the boy settled back into the chair. Shapiro said nothing for a few minutes, watching as Kyle briefly closed his eyes. Finally, the doctor asked, "How about a cup of coffee? I'd like one... can I get you one?"

Kyle opened his eyes and nodded, the swift anger he had felt moments ago having left him. _What had that been all about? Why had Shapiro's words enraged him so? Wasn't there some truth to what he had said? The prosthetic limb he refused to use... wasn't part of the reason for its nonuse the admission to himself that his disability truly was permanent?_

Suddenly, he felt tired... tired of it all. Bleakly, he wondered, _What's the point of any of this? Will things ever be good again?_ Now that the fury had passed, he found himself wishing for something stronger than coffee to chase away his blues.

Shapiro caught the oppressive weariness in Kyle's body language. "Are you sleeping well, Kyle?"

Grudgingly, Kyle shook his head. "Not really... bad dreams sometimes. And then... "

His words drifted away, but Shapiro had experience with amputees and guessed what also was contributing to Kyle's sleepless nights. "And then there is the pain from the area where your leg used to be?"

Shamefaced, the young man nodded. "It wakes me sometimes... _You_ may think my leg is gone, and _I_ may think it's gone... but I don't think _it_ understands."

Handing him a cup of coffee, Shapiro smiled. "Here - hope you like it black. I don't keep any cream or sugar around.

"Now, that leg pain... the doctors told you this can occur in patients who've had a limb amputated, right?"

"Yeah, but they also said it would occur infrequently... and wasn't likely to last long."

Shapiro started writing on a legal pad as he nodded. "That's true in most cases... but not in all. Unfortunately, it doesn't appear to be true in your case. There are things that can be done to help alleviate the symptoms." Shapiro raised his head and met Kyle's eyes. "Low doses of antidepressants are sometimes effective. And, if they don't work, there are other medications and courses of treatment."

The young man said nothing, just nodded his understanding.

"Now, tell me about the bad dreams."

Kyle shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He didn't really want to think about those dreams. "Not much to tell... they're kinda vague. It's dark, people are screaming... There's smoke everywhere, confusion... then some of the smoke disappears, and I see this guy I knew in the Sand Pit... He's yelling and waving his hands about, except, see, he hasn't any hands any longer... Just stumps, bloody stumps. And then I'm crying because my leg is gone and it hurts so damn bad... and I'm bawling because I think I'm gonna die in that goddamn Sand Pit! Never get home... just die in that shitty place."

Agitated, Kyle began to grip the coffee cup tightly, his knuckles white with strain. "And then I wake up and it just continues to hurt, where the leg used to be. And that guy... the one without the hands... he was my buddy... Tony... but seeing him that way... Jesus! It scared me at the time, and it scares me in my dreams! Christ, doc, I loved the guy but I wish he'd stay the hell of out of my dreams!"

"Do you have these dream often?"

"Couple of times a week. Sometimes, if I catch a news show and they start talking about Afghanistan... well, I dream I'm back in the Pit again. And then... I,uh, have trouble getting back to sleep afterward. My heart is pounding, can't catch my breath... sometimes I feel like I'm dying..." Kyle shook his head. "I usually grab a couple of beers when I can't get back to sleep. But I'm trying to stop that. It upsets my father - I think he worries I have an alcohol problem. I don't, though. I just need the beer... to smooth things out... make them bearable, you know? To keep that damned Tony Roselli outta my dreams!"

Shapiro nodded. "We'll address the issue of alcohol as a... sedative... later. But those dreams, well, that was a terrible thing you experienced... It's not unusual that you'd revisit the event in your dreams. Are they always the same or do the dreams sometimes end differently?"

"Always the same..."

"Kyle, do you ever experience similar dreams while awake, during the day?"

"You mean like flashbacks?"

"Yes."

"No. I'm not crazy, Doctor."

"Do you think going through an experience like you have and being haunted by it makes you crazy?"

"I just said I _wasn't_ crazy," replied Kyle irritably.

"Why do you think you're having these dreams?"

"I don't know. _You're_ the doctor; you tell me."

Shapiro's eyes gleamed with amusement. There was something about the young man's pluck that caught his admiration, and a strong desire swept over him to help the boy become whole again. He sensed Kyle was made of stronger stuff than he had shown thus far - and the boy's mettle was what was going to save him in the end.

"Kyle," he said, "what you're experiencing doesn't make you 'crazy.' Like many returning soldiers who have experienced harrowing situations and encountered violence in the field, you likely have a case of post-traumatic stress. In your nightmares, you're reliving a major traumatic event. Seeing your buddy's hands blown off, being afraid, in pain... losing your leg - these are major, horrific experiences. You'd be 'crazy' if they didn't bother you, if they didn't make you anxious. It's the degree of stress which we want to treat... and we can treat it."

"How?"

"Medication, biofeedback techniques - and therapy. You need to be able to talk about what happened... and it helps to talk with people who have experienced similar situations and events."

"Therapy," said Kyle, sighing. "Always therapy... why does everything always revolve around talking?"

"You have a problem with talking?"

"A real man should be able to handle the things that happen to him without bellyaching about it to others. I'm not a goddamn girl."

Shapiro looked at him. "You know, my daughter is an officer in the Army, young man. So I'd be careful about remarks like that."

Kyle shifted uncomfortably. "Sorry. It's just... I should be able to handle this on my own."

"Why do you feel that way? What's wrong with a little help? The measure of a man's strength is his ability to recognize his need for help - and seek it. No one is going to think less of you."

"Right," said Kyle, disbelief evident in his voice. "People say there is nothing wrong with seeking help, but they think less of you. The strong ones do, anyway."

Something in Kyle's face caught Shapiro's attention. "Kyle, is there someone you particularly worry about disappointing?"

The young man fidgeted for a moment. "No... "

Unwilling to let him off the hook, the doctor continued to study Kyle intently. "A few minutes ago, you said a 'real man' should be able to handle the things that happen to him... without, uh..." Shapiro looked down at his notes, "'bellyaching' about it. Frankly, Kyle, I know very few men who can go through traumatic experiences and get past them without talking about them... whether it be to a doctor, a friend, or loved ones. We're wired that way - we need to share ourselves with others."

After a moment, Kyle replied softly, "But you don't know my dad, do you?"

"Not really. Tell me about him."

"I already told you: he's a hero. And he's tough... tough as nails. He's been through a lot on his job... lost people he cared about, deals with the slugs of society. He's been wounded... almost died. In his way, he goes off to war every day. But he doesn't whine. It's all in a day's work for him.

"I want to be that way... you know, the stiff-upper lip sort of thing. I thought when I enlisted, it was a way of showing my dad that I was the sort of man he is... brave, tough, someone who does the right thing, even when it's hard. Maybe showing myself, too... Instead, I come home a cripple, unable to function, worrying him with my drinking, and waking up in the middle of the night, yelling like baby."

Kyle hesitated for a moment and then continued, "I'm nothing like him... I want to be like him... but I can't seem to... handle things like he does." Softly he added, "I worry that I'm like her."

"I assume you're referring to your mother?" asked Shapiro, closely observing the young man's expression.

Kyle nodded.

"Why don't you tell me about her?"

Kyle paused. A quick battle waged inside his heart. His loyalty and love for his emotionally disturbed mother battled with his need to express his fears and concerns to the doctor. "My mom," he finally began, "has problems. She's manic depressive. I worry about that... if there's some sort of connection here - the, uh, emotional problems."

An understanding smile appeared on Shapiro's face. "You worry that your problems with the nightmares and depression might indicate an inherited mental disorder."

"I didn't say I was _depressed_!" objected Kyle. "I said I had some nightmares, that I didn't like thinking about what happened in Afghanistan because it makes me anxious, but I said nothing about depression. I'm just tired. I'm having a little trouble functioning. I lost a leg, for Christ's sake! You don't just bounce back from something like that."

The doctor looked at him with kind eyes. "Kyle, depression isn't necessarily an ongoing disorder - nor an inherited one. There are many causes for depression. In some cases, yes, it can be an inherited predisposition. But not always. It can be a temporary chemical imbalance. It can be the logical expression of pain when someone experiences a life-altering event.

"You lost your leg - that's pretty life-altering, son. You've endured situations that are frightening, horrifying. I don't know too many people who sail through life without some degree of depression after something like this. So, calm down - having the feelings you're experiencing doesn't mean that you have an ongoing disorder like your mother.

"Tell me, does your mother handle her illness well? I would imagine she is on medication."

"Yeah, she has medication. Lately, she's been pretty good about taking it... but sometimes she goes off of it. When she's on it, she acts pretty normal and you think she's like everyone else. But she hates taking the stuff... says it makes her feel dead inside. So, sometimes she'll stop taking it. And then, frankly, she acts crazy. Real crazy. Look, doc, I don't want to get into all that - I'm just telling you I don't want to be like her. I want to be able to handle my problems. Like my father."

"Has it ever occurred to you that your father might have moments when he wonders if he can handle things?"

"My father handles things. Trust me. He never doubts himself. He doesn't talk to anyone about the things that bother him. He just handles it. He's not a touchy-feely kinda guy, wanting to talk things over. He's like... well, Clint Eastwood... you know, Dirty Harry."

"Hmm... John Wayne," mused the doctor, to himself.

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing. Look, Kyle, I want you to think about this: you've been through a traumatic ordeal, one that is both physical and emotional in its impact on your life. You're now being asked to view the rest of your life differently than you did before.

"I want to help you with this, son. I want you to be able to move forward with your life minus nightmares, anxiety... and worries that you're disappointing your father by accepting help. I want to help you accept the loss of your leg - get you back to using that prosthetic limb. Most of all, I want you to experience a full life, and see you pick up the goals you once had. That's our objective - and, together, it can be achieved."

Tears briefly filmed Kyle's eyes. _It sounded too good to be true. Could he get his life back, in spite of losing his leg? Would he ever feel like himself again?_

"I want to believe you, doc... but the leg... the dreams... "

"The absence of the leg is a terrible thing, but aren't you more than just a limb, Kyle? Of course, you are. You say you want to be the man your father is... I think you're on your way. It took guts for you to come here - that's the first step. And it will take more guts and determination to work through this. This isn't going to take a week or even a month, Kyle. It's going to be hard work over the course of many months. It's a journey. And every journey begins with the first step - which you've taken by coming here. Won't you let me help you?"

_Is he right? Am I like my dad?_ Kyle wondered. _Can this man help me?_

"Kyle, I want you to remember that your father came to see me because he was worried about you. There's no need for you to worry that your coming to see me will cause him to be disappointed in you. Your welfare is important to him. And here's another thing to consider - that idea you have that your father doesn't need to talk, that he's too tough to be bothered by things. That's 'hero worship' speaking, son... not reality."

Kyle looked at the doctor and was about to object, but the doctor waved him silent.

"Listen to me, Kyle: your father is as human and needy as you. He's not a machine. You might try talking to him whenever something bothers you. When you wake up in the night after one of those dreams, instead of opening a beer, why don't you try knocking on the door to his bedroom? He's your father... let him be that. For your sake, and for his. And it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world if sometime you asked him if he needed to talk. Because that's what relationships are - sharing the things that give us pain and the things that give us joy. It binds us together.

"Now, what about it? Are you up for the journey? You going to come back and see me?"

Kyle thought about it. _He wanted his life back. If this kind yet infuriating man might help him achieve that... well, it was worth a try, wasn't it?_

"Yes sir," he replied slowly. "I think I will."

* * *

Horatio glanced at his watch... 10:30 a.m. Barely ten minutes had passed since he last looked at the time.

He had dropped Kyle off at Shapiro's office earlier that morning and had told his son to call him when the appointment concluded, promising to pick him up and take him to lunch. Horatio was concerned about the session. He felt he'd manipulated Kyle into speaking with the psychiatrist, and now he was experiencing second thoughts. Repeatedly throughout the morning, he had found himself wondering how things might be going for his troubled boy.

One thing Kyle had in common with his father was his dislike of talking things over. Would he be able to let his guard down with the doctor?

_I hope he does a better job of sharing his thoughts with Shapiro than I did with Lauren_, he thought, recalling the other night and how closely the two of them had come to rupturing their relationship. He had been so angry with her when she pleaded with him to talk to her about the nightmares she had witnessed; yet, in the end, he had done so.

He had expected to feel strange with her the next morning, violated somehow... as if someone had trespassed on his personal property. But, surprisingly, it hadn't turned out that way.

Instead, he had felt a sense of relief that he didn't have to hide those things from her, those things that haunted his dreams. It was strangely freeing to know that someone else knew what caused them - and didn't judge him harshly. Or pity him!

If there was anything Horatio hated, it was the thought of being pitied. It always seemed to go hand in hand with contempt.

Unbidden, an old memory surfaced. He recalled walking down the street with his mother the morning after one of his father's drunken episodes. It had been a cloudy, brisk winter's day and he and his mother were bundled up in heavy coats as they slowly made their way to the small market down the street. His mother had been wearing a large, paisley scarf on her head that obscured much of her face and a pair of wide, dark sunglasses that hid the evidence of her husband's 'affection.'

The neighborhood women standing inside the market had looked sympathetically at his mother and gathered round her, whispering words of consolation, but there had been an underpinning of something unpleasant in their solicitude. He had been ten years old at the time - a child - but wise enough to sense that the women's pity was generously mixed with contempt. The boy had understood that in some way those women thought themselves better than his mother, had wondered what she had done to provoke such wrath, and blamed her for her situation. Their pity and contempt had angered him, and ever after the two emotions were closely wed in his mind, and he hated them both.

Horatio shook the memory away. Lauren hadn't pitied him when he told her the story of his past. He had felt her compassion, her love for him and a sorrow that he had endured such a troubled history, but she didn't dwell on it. Instead, she held him close, loved him, and assured him his secrets were safe with her. And he believed her. That, in itself, was new for him. The first step down a road he'd never expected to take. It was comforting to let down his guard and not have to be the strong one every minute. It was her gift to him, as was the fact that she didn't refer to the subject the next morning.

He could trust her. And he did.

Would Kyle find that trust with Shapiro and be able to let down his guard and talk about the things that bothered him?

Abruptly, Horatio's thoughts were interrupted by a tentative knock on his office door. "Come in," he called.

Maxine Valera opened the door and stood at the entrance. "You wanted to see me, boss?" she asked, a crooked smile on her face.

Inwardly sighing, Horatio stood up. "Yes, Miss Valera. Please come in and close the door behind you."

Her brown eyes wide with uncertainty, Maxine entered the room and sat in the proffered chair.

_She looks so pale and tired_, thought Horatio, studying the dark blue circles under her eyes. _Could she really have been at the stables that day? He didn't see how Lauren could have been mistaken; she had been adamant that it had been Valera she had spoken with. _Yet the woman sitting in the chair before him didn't seem to have the energy to have come to work this day; how would she have found the energy to muck out stalls?

"I understand you've been sick the past few days," he said.

"Yes sir, and I'm sorry about that... I know I've created a lot of extra work for others," she replied, casting her eyes downward.

"How are you feeling now?"

Refusing to meet Horatio's eyes, Valera said softly, "Much better."

"Really? You don't look like you're feeling better..."

Valera looked up at him and smiled slightly. "I, uh, suffer from migraines. They keep me from sleeping... sometimes they're so debilitating that they keep me from functioning."

Tilting his head slightly, Horatio studied the young woman. She appeared tense and anxious. "Migraines can be debilitating," he agreed. "Funny thing... I don't recall your ever mentioning them before. Don't migraines generally occur with regularity?"

She nodded. "I used to get them all the time as a child, but they stopped years ago... no reason for it. Just simply went away. But before that, they occurred frequently ... and they were pretty bad. I missed a lot of school when I was a kid. Often, the pain was so bad that I couldn't get out of bed... couldn't concentrate on anything." Without thinking, Valera looked down at her hands and began picking at her cuticles, her fingers shaking as she did so. "They recently began again."

"And last Friday... you were suffering from a migraine?"

"Yes."

"And it was a debilitating one?"

She nodded, continuing to pick at her cuticles.

"Then how is it that you were seen at Quinn Riding Stables on Friday afternoon?"

TBC


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen - Two Sides of the Same Coin

Valera immediately stopped her anxious picking at her cuticles and looked at Horatio sharply. "What did you just say?"

"I asked why you had been seen at Quinn's Riding Stables on Friday," repeated Horatio, watching her reaction.

"I don't know what you're talking about! I wasn't at any stable on Friday. I was home. Sick! I was practically passed out on my bed due to the pain from the mother of all headaches!"

Horatio frowned. He didn't like his people lying to him. He took it personally. He gave his team a lot of leeway to do their jobs, and he seldom questioned their comings and goings, relying on their integrity and loyalty. His mouth thinned with disappointment.

"I have it from a reliable source that you were, indeed, at Quinn's on Friday."

"Who was your source?" she demanded.

"Lauren Chambers."

"Lauren? Your... friend?"

"That's correct."

"Well... I'm sorry, Horatio, but she's mistaken! She probably saw someone she thought was me. I assure you, I was home... in bed!"

"That doesn't seem possible. Lauren didn't just _see_ someone who looked like you; she told me she _talked_ with you... and that you admitted to working at Quinn's part-time. What's this all about, please?"

Valera stared at Horatio, a dumbfounded expression on her face.

"She said she talked with me? _With me?_ Are you sure she said that?" Suddenly her eyes flashed with a spark of comprehension. Lowering her head quickly, she again began to nervously pick at her cuticles, refusing to meet Horatio's eyes.

"She was quite explicit..." continued Horatio.

Annoyed by her failure to look at him, his brows drew together.

"Ms. Valera? Please look at me."

Slowly, the young woman raised her head, a veiled expression on her face. "I'm sorry, sir," she began sheepishly. "Lauren told you the truth... I was at the stables on Friday. I'm sorry - I should have admitted it when you asked."

Horatio was nonplussed by her sudden admission of guilt, and continued to scrutinize the pale woman before him.

"It's a matter of some embarrassment to me," she continued, her eyes guarded. "I, uh... well, I've had some expenses lately that have made my finances challenging... so I took a job there. I've always loved horses... seemed a good way to pick up some extra money. Look, it's temporary. I promise it won't interfere with my duties in the future."

"I hope not. I don't need to remind you that you're an important member of my team. When you're not here, someone else has to pick up your duties. We have several difficult cases going on right now and everyone has a full plate. I can't have divided loyalties, Ms. Valera - the lab has to be your primary consideration."

Horatio stopped. He realized he was letting his irritation run away with him, but he was annoyed that Valera had started out by lying to him about meeting Lauren. Why hadn't she come to him if she had financial difficulties? Didn't his team know that he would do whatever was in his power to help them in difficult situations? The lack of trust bothered him as much as the lying - and the dereliction of duty. Valera had always been one of his top performers, and her behavior was out of character.

He noticed a tiny pulsing vein at the side of her temple. It was apparent she was upset; it was also apparent she was hiding something. Obviously she didn't like getting caught in a lie... was her financial situation really so desperate?

"Do you need some financial assistance? I don't want you jeopardizing your career with us, Ms. Valera. I could probably arrange for an extension on your salary... a loan at reasonable terms that you could pay back when your situation improves."

"No... I can handle this, sir. It's just... it makes me tense... worrying about meeting my obligations. I'm really sorry, boss... it won't happen again." A shaking hand reached toward the visibly throbbing vein in her temple and she began to rub it. Her eyes briefly closed.

"Valera?" Horatio asked, moving closer to the young woman. He didn't like this. _Was she about to have a seizure?_ Valera opened her eyes and began to sway, and Horatio caught her.

Guiding her to a chair, he urged her to sit down and poured a glass of water for her from a carafe on his desk. "Here, drink this... is it the headaches again?" he asked, concerned by the paleness of her skin and the light sheen of perspiration that had suddenly appeared on her forehead.

"Yes... oh, yes!" Shakily, she took a few sips of the water and then set it aside, abruptly bringing both hands up to her temples. Tears began to form in the corners of her eyes. "Sir... Horatio... I need to go home... I think I'm going to be sick."

He nodded decisively. "Stay here, please."

He walked out into the hallway, intent on finding Calleigh and asking her to take Valera home. Instead, he passed Natalia.

"Natalia, have you seen Calleigh?"

"Yeah, H... she and Eric just left the building... some development in one of Eric's cases. What's up?"

"Natalia, I need you to do me a favor. Ms. Valera is in my office and she's unwell. I can't take her home... would you please see that she gets home? I don't want her leaving here by herself... she seems faint."

"Sure, H," Nat replied. "Know what's wrong with her?"

"Migraines, I think. See that she gets settled, and don't leave until you're certain she's okay. Let me know how she is after you've returned."

"Will do."

"And, Natalia - if she starts to feel worse, I want you to take her to the ER. Don't mess around... got it?"

Natalia frowned. "Got it, Horatio."

* * *

After some initial resistance, Maxine allowed Natalia to take her home. It was obvious to Nat that as much as Maxine wanted to avoid being fussed over, she feared Horatio's displeasure more and reluctantly acquiesced to his demand that Nat accompany her.

During the tense, uncomfortable ride to Maxine's apartment, Natalia had watched her out of the corner of her eye. The younger woman had leaned back into the leather seat of the little sports car, her head turned toward the window, staring sightlessly at the passing scenery. Glancing down at Valera's hands, she noticed how white her knuckles were and the traces of blood around her cuticles. Once or twice, Natalia had asked her how she was feeling, and Valera's response had been a terse, "I'm hanging in there... just want to get home."

At last, the ride ended, and the two women exited Nat's little sports car and headed up the walkway to Maxine's apartment.

"It's really not necessary for you to accompany me to the door, Nat... I'm okay now. Whatever it was back in Horatio's office has passed; I feel much better - just tired. I think I just need to rest for awhile."

Natalia looked at her doubtfully. "Pardon me for saying, but you look like hell. Horatio asked that I get you settled inside and stay with you until I was sure you're feeling better. You know, Max, you're lucky... he was thinking of having me take you to the ER. I'm still not sure that I shouldn't have done so..."

Valera frowned as she unlocked the door, and the two women went inside the apartment. The cool, brisk feeling of refrigerated air greeted them. Noticing Natalia's immediate discomfort, Maxine allowed a strained smile to escape her lips.

"I keep it rather cool... it helps me relax when the migraines hit."

_Rather cool? Feels like a meat locker in here,_ thought Natalia, wishing she had brought her jacket into the apartment instead of leaving it in the car. Inside Valera's frigid apartment, Nat's tank top didn't offer much in the way of warmth. _Sure would hate to pay her monthly air conditioning bill!_

Natalia looked around. It was the first time she'd ever been inside Maxine's place. She wasn't surprised to see that it was as neat and precise as the woman herself. The decor was minimalist. The overwhelming color choice was white.

Very white.

From the walls to the furniture to the carpets on the floor, the decor was decidedly, unequivocally white. Only a very few black and tan accents interrupted the bright, milky color of the apartment. So immaculate. Uncluttered. Balanced. Perhaps too balanced and orderly. There was an odd achromatic harmony to the place that disturbed Natalia. Her own casual style was the opposite - she liked lots of color and her fashion sense was eclectic. She smiled to herself: _Perhaps you can learn a lot about a person from the way they decorate their home._

Wearily, Valera sank down onto the sofa. Again, she began rubbing her temples.

"Hey," said Nat softly, her voice filled with concern, "how about I make you a cup of tea? I know I could use one. Have you any tea in the kitchen?"

"Yeah... there's some Earl Grey and some chamomile. Chamomile might be best... soothing."

"Chamomile it is then. Look, Max, lie back and rest. I'll bring the tea to you when it's ready."

After a final worried look at Valera, Natalia went into the kitchen, found the tea, and put some water on the stove top to boil. Once that was done, she again peeked into the living room and saw that Maxine was stretched out on the sofa, her eyes closed, seemingly already asleep.

_Poor girl! She looks terrible._ She wondered for a moment if Maxine took medication for the migraines. Surely anyone who suffered that much would have some sort of prescription to lessen the effects of the headaches.

The coolness in Valera's apartment made the flesh rise on Nat's skin and she thought about turning it down, but decided not to if it brought the girl any relief. Instead, she went in search of a light throw to drape over the sleeping woman. Looking around the living room, she found nothing she could use. Unlike Nat's own place which was a cheerful clutter of brightly colored throws and pillows, Maxine's spartan style left little in the way of comfort. Certainly stylish in a stark, modern way, but the sleek, crisp style didn't do much to warm a person.

Finally, she wandered into the bedroom in search of a light blanket. The bed had been made, its stiff neatness covered over with a white chenille spread. Natalia smiled briefly, recalling that as a child she used to have an almost identical bedspread... it had been years since she'd seen one similar. _Well, no throw here... perhaps a robe..._

She walked over to Maxine's closet and opened the door. She was about to reach for the robe hanging inside when her eyes spied a light blanket, folded, and sitting on an upper shelf. Reaching for it, she pulled it down. As she did so, she saw a object fall from behind the blanket and land with a soft thud onto the carpet.

_What's this?_ she wondered, dismayed at having unwittingly spilled the contents of a small wooden box all over the floor of the closet. _Some sort of memory box?_

Feeling intrusive, she quickly knelt down and gathered up the notes and envelopes and little stubs of paper, and hurriedly shoved them inside the small box. It was then that she noticed a small yellowed photograph laying amidst the memorabilia.

She picked up the faded photograph and studied it. Two identical, unsmiling little girls stared out of the photo, their expressions grim and at odds with the sweetness of their appearance. Behind them stood a slight, pretty, smiling woman and a very tall, imposing man of middle age, well-dressed and wearing a hearty, self-satisfied expression. The group was posed in front of late 1980s Cadillac Seville that appeared to be parked in front of a church. All four were dressed up, and Nat guessed from the look of things that they had been to church. The little girls had long, light brown ponytails secured with pink bows, and they were wearing matching pink dresses, white gloves, socks and patent leather, black shoes. The girls were dressed more like children from the 1950s than the 1980s... and something about the photo made Nat uncomfortable.

_Was this Maxine as a child? Was she a twin?_

Nat closely examined the man and woman in the photo... parents? The mother was smiling into the camera, but the man... he had his hand on the one girl's shoulder... as if to restrain her... keep her in her place? The children's expressions were so solemn... but the man... His expression was pleasantly self-assured, but in a bullying way. The photo bothered her, but she couldn't say why. _What is it about this photo? About the family? Why is the -_

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING? HOW DARE YOU GO THROUGH MY PERSONAL THINGS!"

Surprised and disconcerted, Natalia looked up quickly, gasping at the indignation and fury coming at her from a very angry Maxine. The enraged young woman was standing just inside the bedroom, glaring at her.

"What are you doing in my closet?" she demanded, eyes flashing. She quickly strode into the room. "Who told you to go through my things? Is that why you came back with me? To snoop around here?"

"No... no..." stammered Nat, embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Maxine. I saw that you were sleeping and thought to throw something light over you... it's so cold in here! And I... I came in here to try to find a robe or a throw... and I saw the blanket... and, well, the box fell over... and, God! I'm so sorry! I know how this must look! Please forgive me."

Maxine rushed forward and, kneeling, she picked up the box. "Did you read my letters? Have you been sitting here all this time, going through all of this?"

"No.. no... not at all. I was picking everything up to put back into the box when I saw this photo and - "

Maxine grabbed the photo from Nat, glanced at it and turned pale with anxiety. Her distress didn't escape Natalia's notice. Immediately, the previous embarrassment she had felt was replaced with compassion.

"Max, are you okay? Honey, what's wrong?"

For a moment, Maxine said nothing, continuing to stare at the photo, holding it in shaking hands. Her chin began to quiver and she finally looked away from the photograph.

Gently, Nat reached out a hand and swept back a lock of hair that had fallen forward on Valera's face. "Honey, the little girls in the photograph... they look like you... is one of the girls you?" she asked softly.

At first Maxine said nothing, staring resolutely ahead, an expression of deep sadness on her face. Finally, she nodded, and her sad eyes looked at Natalia. "That's a photo taken one Easter Sunday... that's my twin sister... Melanie." She pointed to the girl standing in front of the man.

A look of pain crossed her face, and she then pointed to the woman and the man standing behind the small girls. "That's my mother with us in the photo... And that... that's her friend."

Surprised, Natalia leaned back on her heels. "You have a twin sister? I never knew that! Why... she's a mirror image of you! Do you see each other often?"

Maxine sniffled and wiped her eyes on the heels of her hands and shook her head 'no.'

"My sister is dead. She died years ago. A bad accident. Car accident." She looked again at the photo, and a hard look settled on her face.

"Oh, I'm sorry, honey. It must be terrible to lose a sister."

Putting the photo inside the box, Maxine softly replied, "You have no idea." Taking a deep breath and closing the box, she repeated, "You just have no idea... we were so close. Confidantes. Twins share a special bond... did you know that? When she had bad dreams, I'd have them, too. If she had a stomach ache, I'd have one as well. We were so close... little co-conspirators in our own little world."

She looked at Natalia, and a guarded look appeared on her face. "Aren't all children co-conspirators against adults? Especially siblings. She was my... best friend. But bad things happen. Accidents."

Puzzled, Nat asked, "What happened... how did the accident occur?"

Maxine stood up. "Look, I really don't want to talk about this.

"Please go, Nat. I'm okay now. Just tired."

Slowly, Natalia stood up and looked at Maxine with uncertainty. "I don't know... are you sure you don't want me to stay with you? I'd be happy to - "

"No, I'm fine. Really. The fussing makes it worse. I just want to get some rest. Okay?"

Natalia nodded.

* * *

Leaving Maxine's apartment, Nat punched a number from her contacts list into her phone.

"Horatio Caine," answered the familiar voice.

"Hey, H, just wanted to let you know that I've taken Valera home. I stayed with her for awhile, but I'm leaving now."

"How is she?"

Nat paused for a moment. _How was she? Now that's the million dollar question,_ thought Natalia, unsure how to answer. "I think she's okay. It's hard to read her. She was definitely tired, and I could tell her head was aching. I think she'll try to get some sleep."

"Anything else? You sound... odd."

_Sure I sound odd, Lieutenant! I was just caught invading the privacy of a colleague. I won't make it worse by sharing private moments._ "No, nothing else. She's a pretty private person... I think she wants us to leave her alone."

There was a tense pause at the other end of the line. "Well, Ms. Boa Vista, there's privacy... and there's accountability."

"Is there more to this than you're telling me, H? Did Valera do something wrong?"

Picking up on the irritation in Horatio's voice of a moment ago, Natalia waited for a reply.

"Thank you for taking Ms. Valera home, Natalia. I appreciate it. That will be all."

Surprised, Natalia stared dumbly at the silent phone in her hands. He had hung up on her! And hadn't answered her question. Not sure whether she should be offended or amused, Natalia shook her head in exasperation. _Men!_

* * *

_Much later that evening..._

The woman stood silently in the shadows of the stables, her face unreadable in the soft electric light inside the building. Around her, horses could be heard gently snorting and munching the hay inside their stalls.

It was quiet... peaceful... soothing. No other humans were inside the stables but for one.

Just one... and she was the person the woman had come to see.

The woman watched as the solitary figure moved a large canvas sack filled with oats. Then, speaking softly to the horse in the nearest stall, she gently stroked its muzzle, not yet cognizant that she was the object of intense scrutiny.

A moment later, the observer moved out of the shadows, and the lonely figure looked up at the soft rustle the movement made. She emitted a small gasp of surprise at the appearance of the intruder, who smiled crookedly.

Several seconds of silence passed. Finally, the intruder murmured sorrowfully, "Melanie, Melanie... it has been so long. All this time... after all this time, what are you doing in Miami?"

Melanie looked at her defiantly. "Hello, Maxi."

TBC


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen - Moving On

"Melanie." Maxine stared at her sister. "It _is_ you. After all this time... I knew it... as soon as Horatio said Lauren spoke with 'me' here, I knew it could only be you."

Suddenly Maxine's face spasmed with pain, and she brought a hand to her forehead, rubbing it anxiously.

Melanie looked at her critically. "Are you okay? You don't look so hot..."

Maxine wandered over to a bench in the stable and sat down. "I'll be fine. It's just... the migraines."

"The migraines. Always the migraines. So you still suffer from them. I thought they'd gone away after you left me and Mama."

"I didn't _leave_ you, Melanie," said Maxine, her voice weary. "You always try to make me feel guilty... as if I abandoned you. I went to college."

"Same thing," muttered Melanie. "Same thing. You went off to college and left me home - with Mama. And after college, you never came back. You never called... never visited. You wanted to forget, didn't you? But you can't. You can only fool yourself for so long... I'm always with you - ever in your thoughts. And now I'm here... in Miami. Surprise!"

Melanie smiled, and then something seemed to occur to her. "You _do_ try to forget about me, don't you? Why is that? Tell me something, Maxi... Do you ever think about those rides with Uncle Bill?"

Valera's hand dropped from her temple. "That was a long time ago. I've moved on... and so should you!"

Melanie sighed and looked into the warm black eyes of the mare in the stall before her. Softly stroking the animal's muzzle, she began speaking quietly.

"_Move on_, she says. _Move on._ How do you do that? How do you move on from those Sunday afternoons... and 'Papa?'"

A bitter look appeared on Melanie's face. "Makes my skin crawl remembering how he made us call him that. Yeah, dear, dear 'Papa' when we were alone with him... When he was with Mama he was just good old Uncle Bill, Mama's big man about town. Big car. Big connections. And Mama's big dreams... thought good old Uncle Bill was just going to change everything for us. We'd be living the good life. Some _good_ life. Some life!"

Maxine's eyes closed as she listened to her sister's stinging words, and her thoughts drifted back to those fearful, shameful Sundays.

She tried to block out the images Melanie's words painted. She didn't want to think about them. Didn't want to remember them... Why didn't Melanie just put the past behind her?

Slowly, Maxine opened her eyes and her gaze drifted down toward her hands. _What a mess they are!_ She used to have such nice hands... pretty... delicate. Unable to stop herself, she began anxiously picking at her scarred cuticles, watching bits of blood appear around the edges.

"What's the point of this, Melanie? What good does remembering do?" Maxine's voice caught, and then she continued softly, "It was a lifetime ago."

"Maybe for you... not for me."

The mare began a restless snorting against the hand gently stroking her smooth muzzle.

"What's the matter, girl?" asked Melanie. "Sense something? Something making you uneasy? Calm down, baby... calm down... hush, baby, hush..."

Gently leaning her forehead against the animal's, Melanie began to eerily croon:

_Hush little baby, don't say a word  
Papa's gonna buy you a mocking bird  
And if that mocking bird won't sing  
Papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring_

Maxine's head snapped up. She stared at her sister in horror.

* * *

Smiling, Horatio bent down and placed a quick, casual kiss on Lauren's mouth before sliding into the elegant leather booth at Gatsby's. It was a place where they'd shared many intimate conversations, and he felt himself relaxing as he sat down across from her.

"Hey you," he said, "waiting for anyone special?"

"Mm... a certain police lieutenant who offered to buy me a drink," she said. "He was supposed to have been here fifteen minutes ago... do you think I've been stood up?"

Taking in the long blond hair and happy gray eyes gazing into his, he grinned. "Not unless he's a fool."

Horatio gestured to the bartender across the room. "Two brandies, Joe," he said, and then looked back at Lauren. "Sorry I'm late. I got delayed with Frank. We're taking a field trip tomorrow."

"A field trip?"

Horatio sighed. "Yes... tomorrow we are, um, going to see a psychic..."

"A _psychic_? Really? _You?_" Intrigued, Lauren began to laugh. "Are you having your cards read, Lieutenant? Got a few questions about the future?"

"Don't be silly. It isn't how it sounds." A slight, uncomfortable blush traveled across Horatio's face.

"Then what? The idea of you and Frank visiting a psychic is - well, I can't even imagine it."

"It has to do with the case I told you about... this woman could possibly help us nail down a lead. Claims to have had some visions about the murders. On occasion, the police work with these people. Nine times out of ten, it's a scam. I don't know. It's crazy. I don't expect much to come from it."

"Then why bother?"

"In a moment of weakness, I promised an old man I'd look into it."

"Must be some old man!"

"Back in the day, yes, he was. Anyway, I'm dragging Frank along."

"For comic relief?"

"Something like that... misery loves company, you know."

Wanting to change the subject, he reached across the table for her hand. "You look lovely tonight."

Her eyes gleamed softly in the warm golden light of the lounge. "Probably because I'm happy... I'm glad you called me. Frankly, I was worried..."

Horatio tilted his head, and leaned in closer, his eyes serious. "Worried? About what, sweetheart?"

Lauren hesitated. "About us. Whether you'd have any regrets about the weekend... perhaps want to avoid me..."

Lauren looked away as the bartender approached. Quietly, the man sat the brandies down in front of them and left.

"I wanted to see you," continued Horatio.

When Lauren didn't look at him, he squeezed her hand.

"Hey, no regrets, okay? Look, sweetheart, don't expect me to be someone I'm not... I'll never be a man who wants to discuss 'hearts and flowers.' The things I told you... I don't want to revisit them. Now you know about them. Maybe now you understand certain things better. So, we move on now, right?"

She looked at him. "Yes, we move on. It isn't my intention to bring them up. But I'm glad you shared them with me... it makes me feel that you trust me. That's important to me, Horatio. I want you to trust me... feel safe with me. But I don't want you to think we need to constantly go over these things. We've talked about them. As you say, now we move on."

Horatio nodded, and brought her hand to his lips, staring at her as he did so. "You know... before Kyle was injured... before any of this happened... you and I were pretty much on track to, um... moving our relationship to another level."

Lauren looked at him, unsure where the conversation was going. "It was a happy time," she said simply.

"Yes, yes, it was. But then Kyle was hurt... the long recuperation, the physical therapy... his problems... well, it sort of detoured... _us_. I'm sorry about that, Lauren. I know you wanted to be a part of... all that... what I was going through.

"I just couldn't let you. Not then."

Squeezing his hand, she looked deeply into his beautiful eyes. "I know, honey."

"I shut you out. I'm sorry about that..." He paused, wondering what it was he really wanted to say to her.

"And now?" she asked quietly.

"And now... now I'd like to try again... get us back on track. What do you think?"

* * *

"Stop it, Melanie," cried Valera, her voice shaking. "Stop singing that damn song! What's the matter with you? Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?" Valera turned her attention from the mare and faced Maxine. "I'm just reliving a few memories from our 'tender' youth. Remember that song?"

_Remember it?_ She'd never forget it! Suddenly, rusty, sepia-toned memories reared up and threatened to engulf her. Those Sunday afternoon rides in the car with _Uncle_ Bill - who was no 'uncle' at all...

Mama's _friend_.

Silly, inept Mama, who allowed the man into their lives after their father had died. Ridiculous Mama, who pursued him with marriage in mind... Blind Mama, who only saw what she wanted to see... visions of moving up from the poor working class neighborhood into something better.

_Something better._

Sunday afternoon trips after church to get ice cream... but always a detour first. Just good old Uncle Bill and the twins... He used to tell Mama that it was 'papa time' - a time for him to get to know her girls better...

Well, he had certainly done that.

"Taking a walk down memory lane, Maxi?" Melanie laughed harshly, interrupting Maxine's thoughts.

_You scream... I scream... we all scream for ice cream..._

Maxine forced the images of those Sunday afternoons from her head. The nails of her left hand began to dig deeply at the cuticles on her right...

"Funny, isn't it," continued Melanie, her face ugly, "how a song can take you right back to where you were, what you were feeling, when you heard it. Do you remember where we were? What we were doing? Remember his nasty cigarette breath against our ears... _hush little baby, don't say a word. _Well, we never did, did we, Max? We never said a god damned word."

Maxine said nothing. She stood there, staring at Melanie, clenching and unclenching her fists, digging her nails into her hand.

"Come on, Maxi... don't just stand there. REMEMBER! You remember, right?"

The pain inside Valera's head was worsening. She felt as if ants were crawling around inside her skull, ants whose prickly bites were setting her nerves on fire. Unclenching her fists, she raised her hands to her temples, trying to rub the pain away.

Melanie frowned. She reached out and pulled Valera's hands away from her head. "I SAID, DO YOU REMEMBER WHAT WE WERE DOING IN THAT CAR ON SUNDAY AFTERNOONS?"

* * *

Surprised by Horatio's unexpected words, Lauren's eyes glowed. "I'd like that, too."

Horatio smiled. "Well, then... moving on, as we said... I'd like you to be more of a presence around my house... the way it was before Kyle was injured. I'd like you to spend more time with me... with Kyle. I want him to get to know you. That, ah, was the plan before any of this happened..."

"I want that, too," she said earnestly. "But I don't want to intrude. Do you think Kyle's ready for that?"

"Kyle hasn't been the problem... I have..."

"But the depression - "

"Kyle's got a lot of tough things to deal with - and he's taking the first steps toward doing so. But he's always been interested in getting to know you, Lauren; he doesn't have any problems as far as you and I are concerned. I guess what I'm asking is if you're still interested - or willing - to be a part of all this."

Horatio visibly swallowed and said lightly, "It could get messy. Things won't always be... sunshine and lollipops."

"And I'm not Shirley Temple... if I were, I'd have been long gone, honey." Lauren looked at him intently. "Are you asking me to move in with you, Horatio?"

"Down the road... yes. But right now... right now, I'd like you to start by coming by more often. Staying over. Seeing how things go. Kyle isn't going anywhere for some time, Lauren. He's going to continue living with me... He needs me. Frankly, I need him. I want the chance to be a father to him. But I want you, as well.

"Do you think I can have both?"

She smiled tenderly. "I'm game, if you are. I love you, Horatio."

Again, he kissed her hand. "Good... good." He picked up his brandy. "Shall we drink to second chances and to moving on?"

The snifters gently clinked as the lovers smiled at one another.

* * *

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON OUT THERE?" yelled a raspy voice from a makeshift office in the back of the stable.

Startled, Melanie looked at Maxine fearfully, and dropped her sister's hands. Quickly she spun around and saw the old man coming out of the office, a pistol in his hand and an urgent, alert look on his face.

"Hey, you, Melanie - you okay?" he barked, looking around the stable.

Melanie nodded. "I'm fine, Clete. Forgot you were in the back... Didn't mean to scare you."

The old man looked around. "Who were you talking to?"

"I was talking to my - " Melanie turned around, ready to point to Maxine... but no one was there. _Smart girl! Left quickly!_

"I was talking to Gypsy, here," she improvised, indicating the disquieted mare.

"Sounded more to me like you was yelling at her," Clete replied with disgust. "Nearly gave me a heart attack, girl... thought someone was out here threatening you. What gives with you?

"Look at Gypsy... she's shook... you calm that mare down. It's getting late... calm her down and go on, get out of here. I'll see you tomorrow."

He put the pistol in the band of his jeans and turned his back to her. Disgruntled at the girl's foolishness, he muttered to himself as he returned to the office. Before he closed the door, Melanie watched him pull a bottle from inside his desk and then take down a glass from a shelf.

She relaxed. _A few drinks, he'll have forgotten all about this. Thank God for an old man's poor memory and love of liquor._

Gently rubbing the horse's flank, she frowned. _Funny thing... how quickly Maxi got away._

Dismissing the disturbing thought, Valera began to hum the old children's nursery song to herself as she attempted to calm the skittish mare. Idly, she glanced at her hands and noticed how ragged and bloody the cuticles of her fingers looked.

_Odd that she hadn't noticed that before._

TBC


	18. Chapter 18

_"For now, we see through a glass, darkly..."  
_ 1 Corinthians 13:12

Chapter Eighteen - Peering Through The Glass

It was late afternoon. Another hot, muggy day in Florida - the kind of day that frayed even the best of tempers and made the air conditioning inside the vehicle a necessity. Frank was fidgeting as Horatio pulled into the dirt driveway of the little white house with the cherry red shutters.

"Something wrong, Francis?"

"You mean aside from visiting some dame with a crystal ball? Nah, I'm good... do this stuff all the time."

Horatio glanced at him. "Ever since we left the city, you've been tapping your foot, grimacing and checking out your reflection in the side mirror every few minutes. I think there's a little more to all this than visiting Ms. Brody. Care to share?"

The big man looked uncomfortable and Horatio watched as he took his index finger and tried to pull his collar away from his neck. He began to stammer something out to Horatio, and then seemed to think better of it.

"Nah... nothing to talk about. Not yet, anyway. Just chalk it up to nerves. This whole thing about talking to fortune tellers - it creeps me out. And it irritates the hell out of me. Seems like a waste of time, Horatio."

Horatio sighed inwardly. _Tell me about it. You owe me, Beau Renaud!_

"Horatio," began Frank uncomfortably, "you think we'll be here long? I have some plans for this evening."

"As long as it takes, Frank." Irritated with himself about the fool's errand he'd undertaken at Renaud's insistence, Horatio was growing impatient with Frank's discomfort.

Getting out of the car, he and Frank surveyed the area. The little house was neatly situated on several well-kept acres. Nothing to suggest anyone with any odd talents lived there. His gaze traveled across the small porch and noted the many large wooden tubs scattered about and filled with bright red geraniums.

An ancient basset hound, laying at the front of the porch, lazily opened one eye and regarded the men with disinterest; his level of attention didn't change any as Horatio and Frank approached.

"Hey, Killer," said Frank to the dog.

'Killer' looked at Frank for all of a second and closed his eye, indifferent to the men.

"Good watchdog," commented Frank drily as they stepped past the old canine and onto the neat little porch.

Saying nothing, Horatio wrapped sharply on the screened door. No response.

"Well, that's odd... I called to say I was coming..."

"Hey, H... over there... look."

Horatio looked in the direction in which Frank was pointing. There, out in the distance almost behind the house, knelt an old man in the dirt. He was wearing a straw hat with a wide brim, and tending to a garden.

Horatio knocked on the screened door once more. Receiving no response, he said, "C'mon, Frank... let's see if that gentleman out there knows where Ms. Brody is."

Stepping past the apathetic dog, they wandered around to the back of the property and walked down a path of dirt and stones to a garden where a thin, older black man was poking about the loamy soil and yanking weeds from amongst the lush growth of vegetables. He looked up as the officers approached, the round lenses of his sunglasses glinting against the sunlight. A smile appeared on his face.

"Gentlemen, how do?"

"Good afternoon, sir," greeted Frank. "Can you tell us if this is where Rhea Brody lives?"

"You be the cop who has business with Rhea? Didn't know two of you was coming."

"That's right. I'm Detective Tripp, and this is Lieutenant Caine."

The thin man looked up at Horatio. "Hey, can you lend a hand up to an old man, Lieutenant? I'm afraid I find it easier to get down than to rise."

Stepping forward, Horatio grasped the man beneath his elbow and helped him to his feet.

"Sir, do you know where Ms. Brody is? We had an appointment - "

"Don't worry none. Rhea be back soon. Had something in town she had to take care of. You come on up to the house; I'll offer you some iced tea while you wait. My name is Jamison Brody - Rhea is my wife."

With difficulty, Brody turned and it was then that Horatio noticed the severe limp in the old man's gait. A knowing smile appeared on Brody's face as he pointed to an old cane laying in the dirt. "See you marked that I have a bit of trouble walking. Can you hand me that stick, son?"

Horatio retrieved the cane and handed it to him. Slowly, the three men headed back to the house as Brody talked on.

"This here limp... got her in 'Nam back in '65. I was with the first of the Marines sent over there to fight the Cong. I guess I was 'bout twenty or so. Never really had no fight with them boys but went where I was told. Well, them boys apparently had a fight with _me_... and they left me with this little souvenir... some shrapnel stuck deep in my calf bone. Never gonna come out. Don't pain me much... just makes rising and sitting down a chore. Walkin' fast ain't exactly my strong suit either."

Horatio nodded. "My boy... my son... he lost a leg in Afghanistan."

Brody looked at him sharply. "That a fact? Well, I guess you know all about accommodations then, huh?"

"Accommodations?" Horatio looked puzzled. "Well, we haven't really had to do much to the house - not many steps... "

"Those ain't the sort of accommodations I'm speaking about." The old man opened the back screened door and hobbled inside, Horatio and Frank behind him.

"Now, my Rhea, she's real good about making accommodations. Understands that things need a helpin' hand to flourish. Like those vegetables you see there on that table."

Horatio glanced at the table, noticing the large ceramic bowl containing fat, red tomatoes and large, black and shiny eggplant. On big wooden plates sat several of the largest zucchini Horatio had ever seen. Seeing Horatio was impressed with the ripe, fresh vegetables and their size, the old man grinned widely.

"Rhea got a gift for growin' things. That woman seems to just drop seed into the ground and it starts takin' off. Ain't never seen nothing like it. She's like that with people, too - has a gift for takin' somethin' that's broken and bringing it back to life. ...Guess I'm an example of that. 'Fore I met Rhea, I was a pretty sorry sort... all broken inside."

He then pointed to a sizable clay pot sitting on the floor in the corner of the kitchen. A large fig tree sat inside the pot, its big, glossy green leaves threatening to take over the corner of the small room. "That ol fig tree was just a broken stalk when she got it years ago; now it's almost as tall as me. You look around this place, you see lots of flowers bloomin.' She sure has the gift for bringing life, that woman does.

"That worthless ol dog out there on the front porch? Showed up here 'bout five years ago, half starved, ears cut up, burns on him... someone sure mistreated that animal. Rhea found him hidin' out near that little shed in the back. He didn't have no love for no human, and he was a snarly one. Well, Rhea, she started sweet-talkin' him, bringing him food... 'Ventually, that ol dog let her touch him, and later he started coming up on the porch. Now he's a fixture. Don't bother to do a damn thing... just lays about on the porch all the time. 'Bout the only time he move is when Rhea about the house."

He led the two officers into the living room, and Horatio and Frank sat down on a sofa, and looked around the inside of the little house. It was neat and clean, and pots containing copious amounts of flowering plants were on every table, shelf and windowsill, and some sat on the floor.

As the old man went back into the kitchen to get them some tea, Frank leaned in close to Horatio. "Do all these flowers seem a little creepy to you?"

"No - why would they?"

"I don't know... it's all too lush... feels like a jungle in here to me." Unable to sit still, Frank stood up and began to walk anxiously around the small room.

It was a bright, sunny room, and Horatio noted the large cross hanging on one wall, and an open Bible sitting on a small end table. Lots of colored rag rugs lay on shiny wooden floors, adding to the bright, comfortable feeling of the room.

"Whoa!" Suddenly, Frank drew his breath, staring with revulsion at the small glass terrarium that sat on a low shelf and was almost obscured by the flowering blooms around it. "Hey, look at this! You want creepy... _this_ is creepy."

Horatio walked over to where Frank was standing and, peering inside the glass, took a sharp breath. Inside was a small but thick tree branch with a red, black and yellow snake wrapped around it.

"Look at that thing!" exclaimed Frank, "It has two heads! What the hell!"

Horatio looked closely and, in spite of the heat of the day, he shuddered. He hated snakes. Why would anyone keep a snake inside their house? And one with two heads? Something primordial caused Horatio to recoil from the sight, and he quickly turned away from the glass.

"See you met Roscoe and Reginald," said Brody calmly, entering the room with a pitcher of tea.

"Mr. Brody, I've never seen anything quite like this... "

"Came across those boys one day when I was working in the garden. Found 'em huddled up in some of the vegetables. Two-headed snake, now ain't that a wonder? We took 'em in... 'fraid they wouldn't survive very well in the wild. Poor creatures... can't help how their Maker designed 'em."

"Is it poisonous?" asked Frank, backing away from the glass.

"Naw... just a harmless ol milk snake. People get confused by its coloring... looks like its deadly kin, the coral snake. But these boys, they just lots of pretty colors. Look menacing, but they ain't."

Sitting the pitcher on the table, he walked over toward the terrarium. He moved the glass lid aside, and reached for the snake. It quickly began to coil its small body about his forearm and wrist.

"Look, Detective... ain't that one of God's wonders... both those heads, that one body... kinda makes you wonder what those two heads think about... makes you wonder what the Good Lord had in mind when he created 'em."

Repelled, Frank watched with fascination the strange animal who stonily stared back at him with two sets of lidless, reptilian eyes. Slowly, the uneasy detective continued to back away until he was sitting back down on the sofa.

"You know," continued Brody, gently putting the snake back inside the glass, "this ain't no different from Siamese twins."

"Mm... identical twins born with their bodies joined at some point," explained Horatio to Frank.

"That's right, Lieutenant. These poor fellows just two halves of the same whole... both with separate thoughts, emotions... but joined together for life... I mean, just think about it: their whole existence, never any privacy, never escaping one another. Engaged in a lifelong struggle. One head wantin' to go one way; one the other... One a bit more snappish than the other. Maybe one good, one evil. Hard to know since they can't talk. When me or Rhea tries to feed these boys, they both snapping at the same dinner, tryin' to swallow the same mouse... gotta keep their heads separate during feeding time to keep 'em from destroying each other. These boys have themselves a complex relationship, you might say."

The officers' uneasy attention was diverted from Brody's words by the sudden sound of a car pulling up in the driveway. Horatio glanced out the window and watched a substantial-looking woman alight from the vehicle and, carrying a brown paper bag, walk toward the screened door.

Brody limped toward the door and opened it. "Hey, Rhea, your cops here."

"Hey, baby," she said, handing him the bag, "put these groceries away for me, sweet man."

Rhea Brody was a big, regal looking woman with a warm, compassionate face. Her cocoa colored skin looked as smooth as liquid chocolate, and she had a pair of beautiful amber colored eyes that seemed to gaze at Horatio and Frank with wisdom and warmth. Her thick, crisp brown hair had a wide gray streak running back from either side of her face, and the heavy, curling hair was caught up in a coil atop her handsome head.

"Lieutenant Caine?" she asked Horatio in a deep, musical contralto. "I'm sorry you had to wait, sir... I didn't expect to be caught so long at the store. You know how it is; you see people you know, get to talking, and next thing, you find a fair amount of time has passed."

Jamison limped back into the room and fell heavily into a chair across from the two officers. Rhea smiled at him. "You hurtin' a lot today, baby?" she asked sympathetically. "Seems you limping a lot more than usual."

"I'm getting by, sweetness."

"I see you ain't offered these gentlemen any of that tea in that pitcher... I'm guessing you got to talkin' about other things and forgot your manners."

In spite of his skepticism about her ability, Horatio found himself warming to the large woman in front of him. Something of her manner reminded him of Alexx, and he felt a warm acceptance radiating from her that was calming and soothing. He was about to ask her a question when a mournful howl sounded at the front screened door.

Rhea walked over and opened it. "Killer, baby, you feeling lonely? You want to come in and be with Mama?" she crooned to the wizened old dog who was whimpering to come inside.

" 'Killer?' " asked Frank, surprised. He looked over at Horatio, who grinned, remembering Frank's sarcastic greeting to the dog upon their arrival.

"That be his name, sir. What's yours?"

"Frank Tripp, ma'am. Meaning no disrespect, but shouldn't you _know_ that?" asked Frank.

Musical laughter escaped from Rhea and her amber eyes twinkled. "You mean because I got the 'sight?' "

"Yes ma'am," he replied, uncomfortably.

"I got the sight, Mister Tripp, but I ain't no magician. Or God."

Horatio's eyes were focused intently on Rhea. "Mrs. Brody, can you tell us how the 'sight' works? Beau Renaud was impressed with your abilities - and he's not a man easily impressed."

Rhea's warm eyes clouded with memory. "Ah yes, Mister Renaud. How's his wife doing?"

"She seems to be doing fine... now. Beau credits you with her recovery."

Sitting down with Killer close to her feet, Rhea began pouring glasses of tea for the visitors. "Hope you like sweet tea... only kind I make," she said, handing a glass to Horatio.

"Now, Mister Renaud, he's too generous... I didn't do nothing but tell him his wife had a doctor's appointment it was important she keep. The Good Lord done the rest."

"But how did you know about the appointment?" Horatio persisted.

Troubled, Rhea shrugged, and then leaned back in the chair. Her hand drifted gently toward Killer's scarred ears, softly caressing them. The dog leaned in toward her knees, content to be touched so by his beloved mistress.

"Well, Lieutenant, I don't know if I can put it into words for you... "

"Please try."

She nodded. "It's like... flashes or pictures that suddenly rise up in my mind. Anything can set them off. Sometimes touching a person... sometimes hearing a news report... sometimes a certain smell... a certain voice. With Mr. Renaud, I noticed his wedding ring, and I suddenly got a flash of a woman sitting by a telephone, speakin' with a doctor... and cryin'... I don't know what else to tell you, Lieutenant... Ain't no rhyme or reason for the 'why' of it. It just _is_. It's force of nature... "

"A gift..." commented Frank.

She looked at him sharply. "That's what my grammy always called it - 'the gift.' She had it, too... helped me understand it... control it so it wouldn't control me. But, Mister Tripp, sometimes it ain't much of a gift to know when sad things are gonna happen to good people. Seems like a curse sometimes. 'Specially when something is preying on your mind - something so bad that you find yourself wanting to scream - and ain't no one who believes you."

"That's the truth," interjected Jamison. "I seen my Rhea go off into a dream right in the middle of the day, and 'wake up' with tears streamin' down her face. Nope, ain't no gift at all to know about sadness."

"What about happiness? You ever see good things?" asked Frank.

Rhea smiled. "Sometimes... sometimes I do." She set her warm eyes on Frank. "Got any particular reason for askin'?"

Frank cleared his throat. "No... just wondering."

"Mrs. Brody," continued Horatio, "do the things you see always happen?"

She considered. "No. Not always. Things can be changed. Lots of times what I see are... possibilities. Lots of possible futures. It's like this, Lieutenant: the things I see are pictures of either what has already happened... or what might happen. That's what makes it so confusing at times. Can't change the past; but there's hope for the future. Sometimes."

"Tell me about the... visions... you shared with Beau Renaud."

Rhea leaned forward and picked up the cool glass of tea. She took a drink, considering.

"Well, they were pretty bad visions. Images of men... terrified men... being burned... unable to draw a breath... choking. I felt their terror, their inability to breathe...

"Kept seeing the letter "M" all the time, in big red print. And that letter... that "M"... it was sort of cracked... almost, but not quite, in two."

"Any idea what that means?"

"No sir," she said sadly. "I see pictures; I can't always interpret them." She paused. "I also saw the word JUSTICE."

" 'Justice,' " mused Horatio. "Justice for whom?"

"Now that's the question, ain't it, sir? I don't know. I wish I did. A lot of pain in those images... and not just for those men either."

"Ma'am, Beau told me you heard a child's voice... singing something."

A forlorn look appeared on Rhea's face. "That's a fact... a little girl's voice. Can't remember anymore what she was singing... it was pitiful, though. A pitiful thing to hear. Broke my heart... scared me, too."

"Why did it scare you?" asked Frank.

"It was pitiful... but it was twisted, too. Lonely, scared, mean... angry. The kind of anger that is almost crazy." She shook her head, unable to satisfactorily put into words what she had felt when hearing the voice.

"Mrs. Brody, I have a photo I'd like you to take a look at," said Horatio. "This is a still from images taken from a surveillance camera in the hotel where our latest victim was murdered. This individual stood out because of the time when the image was taken - and because of the inappropriate dress."

Rhea took the still from Horatio and, leaning forward, held it in both her hands.

For several long, silent moments, she sat woodenly, just looking at the photo, puzzlement on her face, but then her expression began to change, and her fingers began to frantically trace the image on the still.

Worriedly, Jamison watched his wife. Her intensity and the way her questing fingers handled the photo concerned him. Slowly, with closed eyes, Rhea began to sway ever so slightly... back and forth... back and forth...

As if sensing something odd had entered the room, the hound at her feet began to whimper and then crawled away, it's scarred, old tail tucked between its hind legs.

"Mrs. Brody," began Horatio, suddenly alarmed by the look on the woman's face - it was seamed with misery and... something else. Something he couldn't quite identify.

"No, Lieutenant," cautioned Jamison softly. "You let her be... ain't safe for her to be woken up when she's channeling the sight... just wait... be quiet."

For the first time since they'd arrived, the pleasant old man looked at them with a slightly hostile expression on his face. "You gonna get what you came here for... so just be patient. This take a lot out of Rhea... you just wait and let her be. She'll show you when the time is right... when she ready... when she able..."

TBC


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen - Uncharted Territory

Horatio watched in uncomfortable silence as Rhea Brody's fingers moved with palsied concentration over the indistinct photo. Uneasily, his glance drifted over toward Frank. He was taken aback by the look of uncertainty on the detective's face; the ever cynical Frank Tripp was spooked, no doubt about it.

_Can't say I'm feeling too easy about any of this myself_, he thought, noticing even the dog had taken to cowering behind an old rocking chair.

In spite of the heat of the muggy afternoon, it seemed to Horatio that the room had abruptly turned cold and clammy. Was it his imagination or had the warm, colorful cheeriness of the room become harsh and overly bright? The copious red petals of the many geraniums seemed to remind him of droplets of blood; they hadn't seemed so scarlet-hued a few moments ago. Everything about the room suddenly seemed _too much_, and he began to feel as if the walls were closing in on him. A phrase from a book he'd read years ago crossed his mind and he shivered... _something wicked this way comes_...

He was finding it increasingly difficult to focus. This was uncharted territory and he didn't like it. It confused him... frightened him, too, if he were honest. He looked at Jamison Brody and saw the man turn his worried attention away from Rhea and look pointedly at him. Moments before the old man had regarded him with worried hostility; his expression now melted into something like sympathy as he caught the lieutenant's uneasiness. "It's okay, Lieutenant... don't fret. Settle yourself down, boy," he said soothingly.

_Get hold of yourself!_ thought Horatio, compressing his lips into a thin line. _You're acting like a superstitious old fool!_

Mentally he shook himself and directed his wandering attention back to the woman before him. She had begun speaking; to make sense of what the lady was saying, Horatio had to listen closely to the soft, barely articulate words being choked out from amongst the sobs.

"So much pain... _such_ blackness. Oh, Lord... OH LORD!" Rhea's fingers had stopped their frenetic movement about the photo, and rested firmly on the subject in the image. Her voice deepened in misery, and tears began to leak from the corners of her closed eyes and slide slowly down her smooth brown cheeks.

"Let that child be! You hear me? _Let her be!_"

She started to keen softly, swaying slightly to and fro. Leaning forward, Jamison said gently, "Rhea, what you seein', baby? It's okay... You're safe... at home in our parlor - with me and them police officers. You're just seein' old pictures from long ago, but you're here with us. C'mon, Rhea, talk to us, baby."

"A little girl," the woman moaned softly, her voice clogged with tears, "sittin' in the back seat of some car. She's scared... _so_ scared. Ain't nobody gonna help her? There's this man... big man... he's back there with her. She's so little... so sweet. She's... she's wearin' these little white socks with lace, and he... he keeps fingerin' them, tellin' her how she's so sweet, such a good girl... such a _good, good_ girl."

Rhea's face spasmed with pain and sorrow. "Makes her call him 'papa.' Makes her touch him... makes that poor little girl cry. She's so scared! Lord, she needs her mama! She cries out to her mama, but her mama ain't there! That man... he keeps tellin' her to hush, don't say nuthin'... he gonna buy her somethin' pretty - 'cause _she's_ so pretty... so sweet... such a _good, good_ girl.

"Wicked man! Wicked man! He hurts that little girl. Ain't no one to help her... ain't no one to see."

Suddenly, Rhea's brows drew together in confusion. "Wait... someone there... someone up in the front seat... someone scared, her mouth all screwed up, holdin' back tears that can't be released... She's got screams deep inside her... screams she's forcin' back... that are chokin' her. '_Gonna get away from all this! Ain't never gonna think about any of this again! Gonna get away... GET AWAY!'_

"That's what she's thinkin' - yes... yes, it's a _she!_ It's another little girl!"

Rhea shuddered. "Bad man! Evil. He likes hurtin' that girl in the back seat... likes bein' in charge... likes knowin' that other little girl be watching him, hearin' him, too scared to cry out! Too scared to say nuthin' to nobody! Makes him feel powerful. Lord! Have some mercy on those little ones... don't seem nobody cares..."

Her throat moved convulsively and Rhea's shoulders tensed. "He finish up his _business_... take them girls out for ice cream. _Ice cream!_ Big man in town, important, respected. People see him out and about on Sundays with those little ones... they think to themselves, 'Ain't he nice? He gonna be such a good papa to those little girls whose own papa died. He such a fine man... such a good catch for their mama!'"

Rhea sat up straight, her voice cold. _"You scream... I scream... we all scream for ice cream... "_

Horatio's gut clenched and he sickened at hearing Rhea chillingly recite the words to the old childhood song. His throat ragged and dry, he swallowed hard, and felt as if a ghost had suddenly entered the room. The jacket he wore didn't seem warm enough to combat the coldness in the small parlor.

Abruptly, the sorrow disappeared from Rhea's face and a hardness stole over her features. Her voice began to take on the high, petulant tones of an embittered child, an angry child. "You scream... I scream... we all scream for ice cream! Gonna pay! Nasty man! Dirty... dirty! He's gonna pay... you hear me, Maxi? You hear me? I ain't never gonna forget what he done. You'll see! You'll see!"

Horatio and Frank glanced at each other. The change in Rhea's voice had been so quick, so unexpected... so eerie.

"Mr. Brody," began Horatio softly, "is she alright?"

Jamison waved them silent, and addressed Rhea. "Baby, who's 'Maxi'? What you seein' now?"

A cunning look appeared on Rhea's face and it chilled Horatio to see her features suddenly assume a childish cast. She smiled and opened her eyes, but didn't seem to see the gentlemen sitting before her. Horatio felt the flesh on the back of his neck begin to crawl; in the background he heard the soft whimpering of the dog from behind the rocking chair. _What the hell?_

"'Who be Maxi?' Ain't tellin' you!" she said slyly. "That be our secret... her and me. Just be us against the world. Can't trust nobody else. Gonna be justice, though, I can tell you that! They all gonna pay. Maxi think she can forget. She can't forget; she foolin' herself."

Rhea's features spasmed once again. "Hurts... my head hurts so bad. My head ain't ever hurt like this before... two sides of the same coin... death and justice... one and the same... two sides of the same coin. Hurts bad... bad. Where's my mama? Mama, Mama... make him stop.

"Made us dirty, he did! Nobody cared! All those times... his nasty ol cigarette breath... heavy breathin' on me. Makin' me feel like I could choke! Not lettin' me move... holdin' me in place. I couldn't move! And no one cared!"

Harsh, childish laughter suddenly erupted from Rhea and her amber eyes glowed strangely. "Yeah... but somebody gonna care now. There's gonna be justice for Papa... and all them papas... I know what they like... baby's gonna give it to 'em... and more. More. Baby's gonna give 'em more than they bargained for!"

Rhea's laughter abruptly ceased.

Slowly, the harshness ebbed from the woman's face, and anguish furrowed her brow. Tears began to roll once more down her cheeks, and the realization of where she was - who she was - began to surface in her eyes. She looked at Jamison, and it seemed all the sorrow of the world was in that tortured glance.

"Pitiful," she said, her fingers lifting from the photo. "Just pitiful."

She slumped back against the chair's cushion, and Jamison lifted her glass of tea. "Here, baby... you drink some of this. Just you rest yourself for a minute." With shaking hands, Rhea lifted the glass and took several deep swallows before setting the glass back down on the table. She took a steadying breath and, lowering her head, she worked on regaining her composure.

Horatio also took a steadying breath... and felt a sense of relief begin to steal over him. The coldness of the room began to dissipate, and again Horatio could feel the hot stickiness of the afternoon.

He looked at the geraniums... they no longer seemed sinister, but were once again just pretty, cherry-red flowers. The little room was once more a cheerful place filled with colorful rag rugs and lots of blooming, robust plants. An inviting room. Soothing. _Had he imagined it all?_ Disturbed, he was silent for a few moments, at a loss as to what to say... what to think.

Slowly, the little hound left his hiding place from behind the rocker and tentatively made his way toward his mistress. He whimpered softly, his old brown eyes gazing adoringly at her, and he settled his aging body up against the side of her leg, trying to coax her into noticing him.

Finally, Rhea looked his way and a sad smile appeared on her face. Her hands had stopped their shaking, and she again began to caress the dog's old, beat-up ears. "You scared, Killer? I was, too, baby," she said softly, "I was, too."

Horatio cleared his throat. "Mrs. Brody... you, um... you saw two little girls? In a car with a man? You're telling us that the children were raped by someone they knew, someone respected in the community?"

Sighing heavily, she nodded. "That's right... those little girls, they knew that man. Felt they had no defense against him. At least one of them was... hurt... by him. They were so frightened. Alone. They had no one to help them. Victims."

"Victims," Horatio agreed. "Who is 'Maxi'?"

Concentrating hard, Rhea sat up straighter. "I'm not sure. The other one... she was forceful. I felt she was... protecting her, somehow."

Frank suddenly stood up and began to walk about the room. Horatio sensed the detective's uneasiness; he felt it as well. "Mrs. Brody, the girls - they were sisters?" Frank asked.

"I think so, Detective. I got the feeling there was a powerful connection... the kind only family has. And that feeling of protectiveness - it was the kind of protection one feels for a brother... or a sister. The one little girl... she wouldn't let me see... she was fierce in blocking me from seeing the other..."

"So you think the stronger sister was protecting the weaker one," mused Horatio. "How so?"

Rhea directed a level gaze at the lieutenant. "I believe she was taking on the... advances... of that man, keeping him away from her sister. That weaker girl let her, just wanted to forget, get away. I imagine that girl feels a lot of guilt about that."

"But she, herself, was just a child," said Horatio.

"Age don't matter to the heart, Lieutenant. Don't you sometimes feel guilt about things that happened when you were a child, things that were beyond your control?"

Horatio looked at her sharply, unpleasantly surprised by her remark. _Did she sense something? She knew nothing of his childhood!_ Watching her closely, he decided her remark was not personally directed toward him.

_Was it?_

Frank paused before the terrarium, staring at the malformed creature within. "You think those girls are responsible for the murders of our victims - that they're taking their revenge on these guys?" he asked bluntly.

Troubled, the woman again nodded. "I do think so."

She looked at Horatio. "Those murders in Mobile... the murders here in Miami... there was a break between them. I can't understand that... something's wrong there." She rubbed her forehead, as if in pain. "It's kinda like traveling down a dark, lonely road... a road that ends all of sudden... next thing you know, you're traveling again, but this time it's a highway... there's another car traveling alongside... and yet... there isn't."

Frustrated, Horatio said, "That makes no sense."

"No," she agreed, "and I'm sorry for it. But something ain't right and I can't put my finger on it."

Staring in fascination at the snake who had begun to sinuously uncoil its scaled body, Frank said softly, "Sorta like this thing... one long body that then splits into two up where the heads are. At first one... and then two..." He shivered and turned away from the reptile's unblinking gaze.

Rhea thought about that. "Yes sir... maybe... except it wasn't always that way... maybe it was two becoming one... "

Frowning, Horatio glanced toward the terrarium. _Christ!_ The thing inside repelled him. One body... two wills? It was too bizarre... _I never heard of Siamese twins committing murder,_ he thought dismissively.

Two sisters. One forceful, protective... seeking justice; the other just wishing to forget. Did they have two killers? Or just one, whose murders were being hushed up by a guilty sibling?

"Anything else, Mrs. Brody?" he asked, wishing to end the visit.

Unhappily, she shook her head. "No... not really. Them pictures I saw only showed so much. It's the emotions that stay with me. The fear... terror... the sadness and guilt. And most of all, the craving for justice. I'm sorry."

Horatio rose and so did Rhea and Jamison. "Lieutenant," she said quietly, "don't blame those girls in your heart for doin' what they did."

"What they did, Mrs. Brody, was commit murder."

"I understand that, sir... but they weren't born that way. They weren't born killers. Someone created that within 'em. They were just little girls."

Horatio nodded. "But they're not little girls now, are they? And there is nothing to indicate that the men murdered had any connection to their past. Don't you believe in personal responsibility, Mrs. Brody?"

Sadly, she nodded. "Yes sir, I do... but things aren't always so black and white. Them little girls... they were victims of that man's twisted nature. They were just small children... God didn't make them killers...that man did!"

"But God let it happen, didn't he?" replied Horatio shortly, recalling bitterly his own compromises with God. "In the end, Mrs. Brody, we all make our own choices... regardless of man, regardless of God."

Rhea looked at him intently, and for a moment Horatio had the uneasy feeling she was seeing through to the heart of him. Softly she replied, "Maybe so, Lieutenant... I ain't God and I ain't no philosopher... I'm just an old woman who sometimes sees pictures that she wished she didn't."

The four of them walked outside into the brightness of the afternoon. As Frank and Horatio made their way to the car, Rhea suddenly called out, "Lieutenant!"

Frank and Horatio looked at each other, and Horatio shrugged, waving Frank on to the car. He turned and looked at Rhea. "Ma'am?"

She hesitated. "I ought not to say this, but maybe you need to hear it. Lieutenant, you put me in mind of that poor snake inside the house..."

Surprised and offended, Horatio replied, "I beg your pardon?"

"Now hear me out... I don't mean to be insultin' you. Just tellin' it like it is. You're like that poor creature in there... of two minds... two warring natures. You got a battle always waging inside of you... Why can't you let yourself be happy? You think you're bad... you ain't bad. You're like them little girls... a victim... but you can be happy."

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Horatio, beginning to turn away.

"Yes, Lieutenant... you do. You're a good man. Choose happiness."

He looked at her, wanted to reply sharply, but the warmth and compassion in her eyes silenced him. Finally, disquieted, he turned away.

"Lieutenant," she said softly, restraining him with a touch to the sleeve of his jacket, "don't worry so... that boy... he's strong. Like his daddy. It'll be okay. You remember that."

Again, disturbed, Horatio looked into her eyes. Seeing nothing but kindness, he nodded and then walked toward the car.

Quickly, he sat down in the driver's seat and cranked up the air conditioning. He was about to put the car in gear when he heard a tapping against the window on the passenger's side. Frank was already pushing the button to slide the window down. Rhea looked in at Frank with an enigmatic smile.

"Ma'am?" he asked. "Something else?"

"Just this, Detective. You asked me if I ever saw happy things."

Frank nodded, his eyes careful.

"Well, sir, sometimes I do. You go ahead and ask your question. She knows you ain't like that other man. It's goin' to be fine." She nodded kindly at Frank and backed away from the car.

* * *

Fifteen minutes passed before either of the men spoke. Each seemed caught up in his own thoughts. Finally, Frank could stand the silence no longer.

"Well, that was _special_."

Horatio glanced over at him, and then resumed looking at the road. "Indeed it was."

"That all you gotta say? It ain't every day we meet an old women who channels spirits from the 'great beyond.' And then... there was that snake..."

Sighing, Horatio shook his head. "Yeah, this has to be the strangest thing we've - I've - ever done."

Horatio paused for an instant. "Frank... did you notice anything unusual while Rhea was in a... uh... trance?"

Frank looked at him. "What do you mean? Only thing I noticed was the high, silly child's voice she used at one point. Aside from that... nothing."

"No temperature drop? The flowers... did they look different at one point?"

Frank studied Horatio closely. Kindly, he replied, "Hey, H... maybe this was harder on you than you thought it would be. I didn't notice anything out of the ordinary while we were there... well, except for the dog. Killer was hiding behind a chair. Stupid hound."

Confused and upset, Horatio said nothing more about the odd, frightening impressions he'd had of the room. _Probably my imagination running away with me_.

Thinking about the strange things Rhea had said, he tried to put the pieces together.

"So, Frank, what have we learned? Possibly two sisters committing the murders... both traumatized, victims of abuse... looking for 'justice.'"

"Don't forget... one is named 'Maxi.' What's that short for - 'Maxine'? Hey, maybe it's _our_ 'Maxine'." She got a sister, you think?" Frank laughed. He was tense and hoping to lighten the mood of the day.

Ignoring the jest, Horatio said musingly, "Must be dozens of women in Mobile or Miami with the name of Maxine... or Maxi. No last name. I don't even know where to begin. I wish we had a description of what the children looked like... maybe we could have had a drawing made - a best guess of what the girls might look like today. Frankly, I'm at a loss to figure out what we gained from this little side trip."

"Well, maybe a hint as to motive."

"Possibly... if any of this can be believed. Although... Rhea mentioned the child's white socks..."

"Yeah," said Frank. "Also said the guy's breath reeked of cigarettes... and that he held the kid down so that she couldn't move."

Horatio nodded. "Mm... yes. That's a connection... Cigarette breath and cigarette burns. Then there's the drug residue we found in the victims' brain tissue - the drug that immobilizes yet still permits feeling and awareness. The child was held down, unable to move, while he hurt her - and aware of what he was doing... Maybe the girls are acting out the past with the vics. But in deadly fashion."

"All about justice... 'all the papas were going to pay.' Isn't that what she said?"

Again Horatio nodded. Finally, frustrated, he said, "We've got nothing, Frank; nothing solid! Without something - some sort of evidence - to tie either one or both of the girls to a murder, we don't have a damn thing."

Frank shrugged. "That's true. Well, if nothing else, this'll be one to tell my grandkids about some day."

After a few minutes, Frank glanced over at his friend. "By the way, Horatio... what did she say to you back at the house?"

Thinking back to the comparison to the snake, Horatio frowned. "Nothing important."

"Really? For 'nothing important,' you seemed to turn pale during the conversation - and you didn't look very happy, either."

Horatio felt Frank's eyes drilling into him. "Okay, Frank... she made a reference to Kyle."

"What did she say?"

"She said not to worry... that 'the boy would be okay'... said he was like his father." _There, that should hold you, my inquisitive friend_, thought Horatio, unwilling to go into the other part of Rhea's message to him.

Hoping to change the subject, he asked, "What about you, Francis? What was that bit about some question you should ask."

Grimacing, Frank started to loosen his tie and unbutton his shirt at the collar. "Sure is hot..."

"Frank?"

Sighing, "Okay... damndest thing... she seemed to know I had it in mind to ask someone an important question. I've been worrying about it. According to ol Rhea, it's going to turn out fine."

"What question? What are you going to ask - and who are you going to ask it of?"

"Christ, Horatio... you sure are nosy! Okay, okay... I'm thinking about asking Lucy to marry me. Satisfied? Anything else you want to know?"

Startled, Horatio glanced over at Frank. "Really?"

"You're surprised?"

"Well... yes. You haven't known her that long..."

"Good grief, Horatio... I've been living with her almost a year. It's good between us... I think we've got something lasting. So, yeah, I'm thinking about asking her to marry me."

"Almost a year..." said Horatio, unbelieving. _Had it really been that long? And he'd known Lauren even longer..._

"Yep, just about," said Frank, his mind on his own matters. "I figure, why wait? It ain't like I'm some young, handsome dude... I've got me a pretty woman who treats me like I am, though. She makes me happy. I don't see any point in putting it off. Time to make a choice, you know? I'm choosing happiness."

Horatio felt a slight chill. He recalled Rhea's words to him... _You can be happy, Lieutenant... Choose happiness._

Unaware of the direction of Horatio's thoughts, Frank continued, "This is new territory for me, Horatio... being with a woman who accepts me and the job... who acts like it's all about me. But it's territory I like.

"I've been worried about it though... she might say no..."

Forcing his attention back to Frank, Horatio replied, "She won't say no, Frank... why would she? She loves you."

"I know she does... but I keep thinking about Jerry Price... after being married to Psycho Cop, maybe she won't want to commit to a detective." He frowned and, nervously, further loosened his tie.

Horatio smiled, his eyes deepening with warmth for his friend. "Don't worry about it, Romeo. You're a good man. She knows that. And if she doesn't, I'll be sure to tell her. Now shut up and let me drive."

TBC


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty - Close Encounters of the Unpleasant Kind

The stillness of the quiet night was suddenly broken by the muffled sound of a phone persistently vibrating... _against wood?_ For a brief moment, Horatio was disconcerted; then, realizing where he was, he reached for the phone laying on the nightstand closest to his side of the bed. His sleep-clouded eyes squinted as he attempted to make sense of the numbers displayed on the nearby digital clock.

_Four in the morning. _He sighed and tried to shake the sleep from his eyes.

_Never good news when a call comes in at this hour_, he thought sourly. Suddenly, Kyle came to mind, and his heart beat a little faster.

"Horatio Caine," he whispered, trying to keep his voice low. He listened to the caller's impassioned exclamations. "Slower... slower, please. I'm having trouble understanding you... Ms. L'Engle, please... slower..."

Relieved the call had nothing to do with Kyle, he sat up, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and listened intently to the caller.

"You're sure it was her?" he asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Is she still there? Did you send anyone after her? No worries - we'll check the surveillance cams... they'll have something... Okay... and the gentleman? Good, good... Yes, yes... Calm down... I'll be there shortly. Do _not_ let anyone into that room until I get there, understand? I'm going to send a team over."

Horatio ended the call, and quickly began another. As he hit the familiar speed dial, he felt the body next to his burrow deeper into the spot where he'd lain moments earlier. Waiting for his colleague to answer, he felt a soft hand begin to gently stroke the smooth, naked skin of his lower back.

"Frank? ..._Of course_ I know what time it is... Listen, something's up - meet me in the Excelsior's lobby in about thirty minutes. Just had a call from your favorite hotel manager... yeah, that's right, 'Wonder Woman'... We may have a break in the case. I'm going to get Ryan and Walter over there... Right, see you soon."

He made a quick call to Ryan, and then ran a hand through his mussed hair, trying to fully wake up. Still sitting on the side of the bed, he slowly arched his back, enjoying for the moment the feeling of the smooth fingertips leisurely making concentric circles on his lower spine. The questing fingers then began a sensuous journey toward the front of his pelvis and he regretfully captured them in a gentle, restraining grip.

"Mm... 'Wonder Woman'?" asked a sleepy voice.

Horatio smiled, leaned over and kissed the pale blond head. "Go back to sleep, sweetheart. I've gotta leave... something's come up on a case I'm working."

Lauren stretched, her fingers raking the long blond hair away from her face. She was still half-asleep. Horatio smiled and dropped another kiss on her nose. "Gotta go."

Drowsy gray eyes peered at him in the semi-darkness of the room. "Are you going to see that beautiful French woman who manages that hotel?"

"Yep."

She thought for a moment and then yawned. "Okay," she said sleepily, turning over and burying her head deeply into her pillow.

Heading to the bathroom to grab a quick shower, he heard the muffled voice drowsily utter an amused warning. "I'm too tired to be jealous right now. Just watch yourself around Mademoiselle Bombshell - none of that _cherchez la femme stuff_, Lieutenant... When I'm fully awake, I'm apt to be very jealous - and you belong to me. I'm staking out my territory. Got it?"

Horatio grinned. "Yes ma'am."

* * *

"Six weeks! Six freakin' weeks it takes me to finally get a date with Joanna Prentiss. Dinner, dancing... I'm making all the famous 'Wolfe Moves', you know? I'm Mr. Smooth!

"So there I am... making some headway finally. I'm in her bed, about to seal the deal, and what happens? We get a call-out. _A call-out!_ Four in the morning, and I'm dragged from the arms of the beautiful Joanna for a call out!"

Ryan shook his head in disgust. "Sometimes I think H doesn't like me."

A toothy grin appeared on Walter's face as the two CSIs walked toward the entrance of the Excelsior Hotel. "So, how far did you get, lover boy? Did you make the lovely Joanna squeal your name in delight?"

"Hardly. When I told her I had to leave, she just yawned and said, 'Thanks for a nice evening, Ryan.'

"'Thanks for a nice evening.' _Nice?_ Walter, had I been able to stay just a little longer, she would have been begging me not to go... and 'nice' wouldn't have been the word she woulda been using!"

"Yeah, yeah... you're a real killer with the ladies, Wolfe," said Walter, laughing. "Sounds to me like Joanna was lookin' forward to her beauty sleep and was okay with you vacating the premises."

Ryan grumbled. "Yeah... maybe. She's gorgeous, but I never saw a girl glance at her own reflection as much as Joanna. I swear, we couldn't pass by a window or a mirror without her checking herself out."

"Sounds to me like that lady is already in love... with herself. You know, Wolfe, you have bad taste in women. You always want what you can't have. Pick a nice girl next time. You know, the doc who works with Tom is pretty cute in a pixie kinda way. Why don't you ask her out?"

"What?! You gotta be kidding... Becki Banks? She's hardly my type."

"Yeah, why not? 'Fraid you'll be steppin' in on Tom's territory?"

"Hell no! But I can see me and Becki at dinner now - I'll be watching her cut into her steak and all the time imagining her cutting up those bodies." He shuddered. "You know, I don't think I ever met anyone who gets such a charge out of cutting up bodies and figuring out what makes 'em tick."

"You mean _stop ticking_, don't ya? Well, Tom doesn't seem to mind her enthusiasm."

Ryan raised his brows meaningfully. "Yeah... he wouldn't. He's as weird about his work as she is. He can have her. They're a match made in... in..."

"In heaven?" provided Walter helpfully.

"No... in _formaldehyde_!"

Walter shrugged. "Okay, brother... just trying to help you get your love life in order. You know, heal what ails you." Deepening his voice, he whispered salaciously, "Just call me the Doctor of Love."

"Yeah, yeah... right." Ryan stole a glance his way. "You look pretty rested for a guy who's been awakened in the middle of the night. Getting your zzz's, are you, 'Doctor Love?' I'd say that tells me all I need to know about your love life... or lack thereof."

"Ouch!" exclaimed Walter, a hand reaching toward his heart as if pained. "That was cold, bro! You know the women find ol Walter irresistible. I'm like catnip to the ladies."

"Sure you are, Walter. By the way, how's that basketball player you were dating... the one who's about seven feet tall and looks like LeBron James in a skirt?"

"Hey! Watch it! Don't be talking trash about Sherrell. She's a nice girl - teaches phys ed to little kids. And she's five-nine, _not_ seven feet - and she's _all_ woman, you ignorant boy. More woman than a child like you could handle! Bet you one thing - I tell Sherrell you compared her to a brother, she's gonna be using your mouth for a basketball hoop!"

"I don't doubt it," said Ryan grinning. "Hey, look, there's H and Frank." Suddenly he stopped walking, and stood as if caught off-guard.

Surprised, Walter glanced at him... and then at the woman he was staring at, an imposing beauty who was speaking with Horatio and Frank at the hotel's front desk. Turning his attention back to Ryan, he grinned with amusement. "Yeah... and woot! Look at that woman they're speaking to..."

Ryan swallowed, staring in open admiration at the statuesque, dark-haired beauty. "Woman? She's a goddess! Look at that long, blue-black hair, that body... that face!"

"Down boy... she's out of your league. Anyway, you just said you don't like 'em tall."

"For her, I'd make an exception... I'd walk through fire for a chance with that lady," he whispered.

"Yeah, well, fire or not, you best start walking now... H has noticed you standing here with your eyes all calf-like. C'mon, boy... put one foot in front of the other, just like your mama taught you."

"Gentlemen," greeted Horatio as the two CSIs approached. If he noticed Ryan's discomfiture, he didn't comment.

"Thank you for getting here so speedily. We have a crime scene for you to comb through. Last night Paul Eastman, a guest at this hotel, had a visitor. One who had murder on her mind. And whose _m.o._ we've seen before..."

"The Bobbysox Killer?" asked Walter, guessing that was why he and Ryan had been called to the crime scene in advance of their shift. He'd wondered earlier why H hadn't let the night team cover it; now he knew. It was _their_ case - and one that stuck in Horatio's craw.

The lieutenant nodded. "We think so." He gestured toward Blandine L'Engle. "This is Ms. L'Engle - she's the Executive Manager of the Excelsior."

The tall, beautiful woman nodded coolly at the introduction, and Ryan looked at her, his attraction there for anyone to read.

"Hello, Ms. L'Engle," he said, offering his hand and looking deeply into her eyes.

The lady looked at Wolfe and briefly touched his hand. Her beautiful, shrewd eyes glinted with sudden understanding and she smiled, her pretty lips turned up in amusement. Being French, she enjoyed the dance between the sexes, and she recognized a conquest when she saw one. Her voice low and throaty, she murmured, "Bonjour, Offficer." She saw the effect her lightly accented English had on the handsome young man, and it pleased her.

Horatio noticed the effect as well and looked at Frank, who just shook his head in disgust. _Wolfe is being a jackass_, thought Frank.

Not missing a beat, Horatio continued. "Ms. L'Engle saw a female figure hurriedly leaving the hotel this morning - a female who looked very much like the individual in the surveillance photos taken at the time of the last murder at this hotel."

Reluctantly, Ryan turned his eyes from L'Engle and focused them on Horatio. "So the Bobbysox Killer was here to murder Eastman?" He saw Horatio wince at the appellation, and belatedly remembered how much Horatio disliked the sobriquet. "I suppose Tom is up there already..." he said hastily.

"Actually, no," replied Horatio. "This time... this time, there is no _body_. The killer slipped up finally. Our would-be murder victim fought back. Mr. Eastman is alive - in the hospital. This could be our first break in this case. While Frank and I are at the hospital speaking with Eastman, I want you to figure out what happened in his suite. There may be something there for us this time - things did not go according to plan for our killer."

"If anything's there, H, we'll find it," said Walter.

"I don't doubt that you will, Walter."

The lovely Blandine signaled to a tall, immaculately dressed young man. "Gardner, escort the law enforcement officers to Mr. Eastman's suite."

She offered a seductive smile to Ryan, a smile that seemed to hint at promises for the future. Ryan swallowed convulsively. _What is it with French women?_ he wondered. _They can say so much with just a simple smile._ He felt his face grow warm as he sensed Walter's amusement at the woman's effect on him.

Horatio watched the CSIs follow Gardner to the elevators and then turned to Blandine L'Engle. "Ma'am, tell us again, slowly this time, what happened, please."

Blandine carefully regarded the men. She watched as Frank Tripp opened the little pad he made notes on, and a frown appeared on her face. She had recovered her wits since her frantic call to Horatio. Now that her initial panic had subsided, she'd had time to think and was once again worried about her hotel's reputation.

"Lieutenant," she said to Horatio, "I called you directly because I was frightened. I didn't want to involve others in this matter. You must understand... this looks very bad for my hotel..."

Frank scowled. "Hang the hotel, woman; we've got a murderer on the loose and twice she's come to your establishment! Yes, _it looks very bad_ for your hotel right now," he said, mimicking her.

Ignoring Frank, she turned again to Horatio. "Lieutenant, I'm willing to tell you what I can to assist you, and I'm willing to allow your men to look the suite over... but you must understand my position... my reluctance to see the Excelsior dragged through the mud because, thus far, you have failed to catch your murderer. Understand me - I want your men to quickly finish _their_ business so that we can get back to _our_ business. And I want them to be as unobtrusive as possible. I cannot have my guests frightened or inconvenienced by your investigation."

Horatio heard Frank snicker under his breath and ironically mutter, "She wants _us_ to be _unobtrusive_ while we figure out who is _murdering_ people at her hotel!"

Sighing, Horatio got to the point. "Ms. L'Engle, we understand perfectly your... ah, concern... for your hotel and its reputation. We will indeed do what is needed as quickly - and as thoroughly - as we can. But here's something _you_ need to understand: your cooperation isn't a request - it's an order. Don't make the mistake of confusing the two.

"Now, tell us everything you can."

Frank smiled. He could see the irritation in the French beauty's eyes and it delighted him. It was a pleasure to see Horatio put the arrogant woman in her place. Pointedly, Frank said, "Why don't you start with the girl you saw running across the lobby."

In exasperation, she sighed theatrically, and waved her right hand back and forth, dismissively. "Non, non... I didn't say she was running. She was walking - but quickly, as if worried about getting out of the hotel as fast as she could."

"Get a good look at her?" asked Frank.

"Not really - I was not that close. She was wearing a baggy sweatshirt with a hood... I couldn't see what color her hair was... the hood was pulled close to her head. But... I could see that she was fairly pretty. Briefly, I wondered at the clothing... and then thought of the girl in the surveillance photos."

Horatio nodded. "Did she notice you?"

"I don't think so... she was intent on leaving."

"Is that when you called the Lieutenant?" asked Frank.

"Not exactly..."

"Well, when _exactly_, then?"

"You must understand, Detective... things happened so quickly I had little time to think. Moments later, Mr. Eastman called the front desk and requested assistance. Gardner Kraemer - the young man who escorted your investigators to the suite - Gardner went up to see what Mr. Eastman required."

"Which was?"

"An ambulance. He said he'd accidentally cut himself with a steak knife. Lieutenant, the blood was everywhere."

Horatio and Frank looked at each other. "That's some accident, Ms. L'Engle," remarked Horatio. "Did he seem in distress?"

The woman stared at him stonily. "He was upset... as I say, there was blood everywhere."

"Did you ask him what happened?" asked Frank. "You know... with the steak knife?"

"I did not. I suspected there was more to it, but _you_ are the police officers, are you not?" she asked, happy to have scored a point against Frank.

"Okay," said Horatio, "so you called an ambulance..."

"Yes... the hotel uses a private ambulance service, one that operates quietly, efficiently - and with discretion."

"Hm... you got that much need for all that discretion?" asked Frank. "How many injured guys turn up around here?"

Glaring at the detective, she smiled coldly. "We have had medical emergencies before. Heart attacks, seizures... and such. We are a well-appointed hotel; our guests expect us to be circumspect. They do not want to be paraded through the hotel on a stretcher, Detective. These are well-to-do, important people who value their privacy. Of course, you would not understand such a foreign concept."

Frank just looked at her. Before he could reply, Horatio intervened. "Where did the ambulance take Mr. Eastman?"

"Jackson Memorial."

"Of course," muttered Frank. "Nothing but the best, right?"

"That's correct, Detective," she replied, her pretty French accent fused with sarcasm.

Horatio looked at Frank and shrugged. "Well, Frank... ready to play Good Samaritan and visit the sick? I think it's time we talked to Mr. Eastman... see if we can help him unburden himself."

He glanced at Blandine. "Ma'am, we'll be out of here as quickly as we can, but understand this: your hotel is now part of an ongoing murder investigation. Do _not_ harass my people or in any way prevent them from doing their jobs. I hope I'm clear?"

Grudgingly, the lovely woman nodded. "Transparent," she unhappily replied.

For the first time since Horatio had dragged him from his bed in the early hours of the morning, Frank felt good. _Damned good._ He could see that the French woman was now having a very bad day... and it was his opinion that no one deserved a bad day more than the haughty Mademoiselle Blandine L'Engle.

* * *

Irritated and in pain, the portly, silver-haired gentleman regarded with distrust the two police officers sitting in chairs near his hospital bed.

"Officers, I really don't have anything to say to you. I had an accident... with a steak knife... during dinner. And I don't much appreciate the Excelsior calling the cops about nothing... they will hear from me about this! You can be certain of that."

Horatio tilted his head. "An accident? That was some accident, Mr. Eastman. Tell me, how does one manage to slice open one's chest with a steak knife... accidentally?"

The man said nothing.

"Okay, Mr. Eastman," said Frank, "what about the girl who was seen leaving the hotel in a big hurry... she there to see you?"

Still, the man said nothing.

"Look pal," continued Frank, "we can do this the easy way or we can do it the hard way. You're due to be released later today... want to talk about all this down at the station?"

Eastman's irritation gave way to worry. "Look, Detective, I don't want any trouble. I'm... I'm just here in Miami on business... I'm a married man... I've got children... grandchildren... it was just a lark. That's all... just a lark... a little adventure... some fun..."

"Fun that almost got you killed, Mr. Eastman," replied Horatio. "We think you had a visitor last night. And we think you were pretty lucky because your visitor may have been involved in several previous murders... so how do you feel about your _little adventure _now?"

The man paled. "Murder? Murder? I thought she was just trying to knock me out... rob me. But, murder? Promise me, _promise me_ that this doesn't go any further than this room, Lieutenant. I'm a businessman... I've got an important position back home... this could ruin me."

"What do you mean," asked Horatio, "that you thought she wanted to 'knock you out'? Did she try to inject you with something? I think you better start at the beginning, please."

Eastman was shaken. "Do I need a lawyer?"

"Only if you have something to hide, sir. Do you?"

"Christ!" exclaimed the agitated man. "All my life, I've done everything by the book. Everything! The first time... the first damned time I step out... something like this happens! My luck! My goddamned luck! I just want to get back to Pittsburgh and forget this ever happened! Why can't you people leave me alone? I don't want to press charges. I don't want any trouble. Christ! What am I going to do?"

"What you are going to do is tell us exactly what happened in your suite," said Horatio, annoyed by Eastman's whining. "Don't make this worse than it already is by trying to hide what happened. The truth always comes out, Mr. Eastman. Don't play games or lie to me, sir... because I will have the truth. One way... or the other."

Eastman looked carefully at the intense man before him as if gauging the sincerity behind the threat. With a sinking heart, he realized this man wasn't going to let the matter go. _Just his luck: he had a goddam zealot on his hands! Christ! His damned luck! The first time he ever stepped out... the first and only time!_

"Alright, Lieutenant... where should I begin?" he said resignedly, his eyes worried.

"You can start with the girl..."

* * *

Maxine stumbled out of bed and headed to the sink in the small bathroom. She looked in the mirror and frowned.

She looked a mess. Her eyes were red and swollen, as if she hadn't had much sleep the night before. _How could that be? She'd gone to bed at eight o'clock._ Her head ached dully. _Still so tired... and very thirsty._ All she wanted to do was go back to bed... but it was a working day and she couldn't afford to miss anymore time away from the lab.

She ran a wash cloth under hot, steamy water and then placed it against her eyes, perversely enjoying the almost painful heat. After a few moments, she removed the cloth and looked again into the mirror.

"Melanie!" she cried, startled by the image that appeared standing behind her. "What are you doing here?" she asked the girl in the mirror.

"I need your help, Maxine... I screwed up! Please, Maxi... please help me! I think I left something behind... something important!"

Maxine quickly turned and looked at the distraught young woman. "What are you talking about? Left what behind? What's happened... what's wrong?"

"Look... in the bedroom... look!"

Suddenly fearful of what she might see, Maxine followed Melanie into the bedroom. Lying on the floor, in the corner of the room, were sweatpants and a cotton hoodie. Looking closely, Maxine saw the tell-tale signs of dried blood on the cotton sleeves... and flecks of rusty brown spattered across the front of the garment.

_She hadn't noticed the clothes lying there when she got out of bed a few minutes ago._

Her head began to throb angrily. "Oh Melanie... what have you done? _What have you done?"_

TBC


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One - Fantasies

"_What have you done_?" cried Maxine, her eyes mesmerized by the heap of soiled, discarded clothing in the corner of the room.

Melanie looked at her strangely. "I messed up the equation. The equation..."

"What are you talking about?" Maxine knelt beside the clothing, picking up the blood-stained shirt and staring at it with horror. "What equation, for God's sake?"

"The remedy equation - the one that always provides relief... you know the equation, Maxi. _You know._"

"Whose blood is this?" Maxine turned her attention from the garment to her sister. For the first time that morning, she closely examined the other girl's appearance. "Did you cut yourself?"

Melanie breathed deeply, her exasperation with Maxine written across her face. "Stop being dense! _It's Papa's blood._ Papa's! I tried to make him pay... He wanted bad things, Maxine. Bad things. They _always_ want bad things. You know that... and you know why he had to pay."

A look of sudden confusion appeared in the girl's eyes, and her voice took on a tone of uncertainty. "But just as I was about to stick him with the needle, he moved away... he saw it... he saw the needle... and everything went wrong..."

* * *

"Tell us about the girl."

Standing in front of the window in Eastman's room, Horatio's eyes were riveted on something in the distance that neither Frank nor Eastman could see. Eastman found the lieutenant's fixed attention on the hospital grounds unnerving, and a light sheen of perspiration appeared on his forehead.

Frank was used to seeing his colleague in unblinking contemplation, and he grinned inwardly at Eastman's discomfort. He'd seen this side of Horatio before. It was typical Caine behavior: intense and concentrated, allowing the lieutenant to 'hear' what the person being interrogated was really saying without the distraction of 'sight.'"

Many a time Frank had seen him employ the technique to great advantage; it was an effective two-edged sword. The solid concentration away from the subject often produced an unsettled feeling that forced more disclosures than the individual meant to provide. And later, just when the subject began to rest more easily, Horatio would focus his sharp, knowing eyes on him, and again the subject would be thrown off-balance. Frank could see it was already working with Eastman, whose hands were fidgeting against the bed cover.

Without meeting his eyes, Horatio repeated tonelessly, "Tell us about the girl."

The man laying in the hospital bed licked his lips nervously and ran a trembling hand through his thick, silver hair. "I met her for the first time last night. I, uh... had gone to a little place a friend told me about... for a few drinks, to unwind after I'd finished my business in Miami."

"A friend, huh?" asked Frank. "What place was this?"

"It's a small club... underground. Private clientele. You have to know someone to get in."

"The name, please," said Horatio, his voice expressionless.

Taking a deep breath, Eastman replied, "_Tender Enchantment_."

"And just what makes this establishment so special, sir?" Horatio's eyes turned from the window and looked directly into Eastman's.

Again the man licked his lips, clearly uncomfortable with what he was about to say. "The... club is a place to, ah, meet women."

"You can meet women anywhere, Eastman. There's something special about this place, some reason it's only for 'private clientele.' What is it?" asked Frank.

"Okay, okay... look, I'm not proud of this, okay? I've never done anything wrong... and the women at the club are of legal age... it's just _fantasy_. Get it? Everyone needs a little fantasy from time to time... isn't that right?"

"You're stalling, Mr. Eastman... please answer the detective's question," said Horatio.

Taking another deep breath, the man continued. "The girls in the club... they're young... of legal age, but young. They, ah, dress up... to look younger. Sit on your lap, call you 'daddy,' say things..."

"Oh, Christ," muttered Frank in disgust. "You are one sick prick. Like little girls, do you?"

The man sat up indignantly in his hospital bed, but quickly lay back against the pillows as the pain from the stitches across his chest communicated a quick reminder as to why he was in the hospital.

"Look, it's just fantasy, Detective! I'm not a pervert. I don't go after little girls."

"No," agreed Horatio, his own distaste for Eastman apparent. "No, sir, you just fantasize about them. Frank, perhaps we should contact Mr. Eastman's family... see if there is any indication of abuse..."

Horatio raised a questioning brow in Eastman's direction before again returning his attention to sights outside the window. "You did say you have children... grandchildren? Little girls, Mr. Eastman?"

"Damn you! No! You leave my family out of this. I haven't done anything wrong! I've never laid a hand on my girls, and never would. I told you - this is just fantasy. Harmless stuff. Make-believe."

"Wasn't so harmless last night, was it?" asked Horatio, turning a quick glance toward Eastman, drilling him with his eyes. The other man looked away, shamefaced.

"So, you met this girl last night at the club," continued Frank. "You get her name? How did she wind up at your hotel?"

"I met her when I was leaving the club... she was standing near my car. Said she'd noticed me going into the club; liked what she saw."

"You liked what you saw, too, didn't you?" asked Horatio.

Uncomfortably, Eastman nodded. "She was pretty... dressed in a little pink dress. She wore pink high-heels... with little white socks that had bits of lace around the tops... she looked like a little girl playing dress-up in her mother's shoes. So sweet... prettiest mouth I ever saw... kept sticking the tip of her index finger in it... sucking on it... looking at me with big, doe-like eyes. Sweet... sweet..."

Horatio glanced at Frank, his brows raised. Silently, Frank nodded, communicating his thoughts: _We have a sick fuck on our hands this time._

Eastman swallowed. "She had a sweet voice, too... kept calling me 'Papa.' It was part of the... the fantasy, you know? So I went along with it. She said, 'Papa, I can make all your dreams come true... especially..."

Eastman stopped abruptly, his face red.

""Especially?' Go on, sir."

The man cleared his throat. "She said she could make my _hidden_ fantasies come true. She kept repeating, "I'm a good girl... a good little girl.'" He again stopped speaking, and an ashamed expression passed over his face. "It excited me. God help me, but it excited me."

"She give you her name?" asked Frank.

"Not really... 'Baby'... said to call her 'Baby.'"

"How'd she end up at the hotel?"

"I, uh, made plans to see her there later... gave her my room number. She told me to wait there for her."

"What time was this?" asked Horatio.

"About two-thirty a.m. I was... pretty drunk. I remember the time because I had to strain to see the numbers on my watch... my vision was a bit wavy."

"Okay," said Frank, "so you go back to the hotel alone - you wait there for her. What happens when she arrives?"

The man frowned, remembering. "I'd changed into a bathrobe and ordered some room service... a bottle of wine, some food. It arrived before she did."

"Room service? That late at night?" Frank sounded surprised.

Eastman shrugged. "If you have enough money, Detective, you can always get what you need, anytime, day or night."

Horatio allowed a brief, cynical smile to touch his lips, one that didn't quite reach his wintry blue eyes. "I suppose that's true. Just like the girl, isn't that right, Mr. Eastman?"

The man's eyes uncomfortably slid away from Horatio's.

"Go on, Eastman," continued Frank, "what happened when the girl showed up?"

"She looked... different... I opened the door, and it was as if a different person stood there," he replied, his face puzzled, remembering. "The pretty pink dress was gone... the high heels, the sweet little socks... all gone. She was in some ratty, oversized running suit. I was... irritated. Felt I'd been taken advantage of... I asked her 'What gives? This isn't what I'm paying for.' She told me to relax, threw me a... well, a pretty and provocative smile, and showed me a duffle bag she had with her. Said she had her 'working clothes' in there, and was about to give me a sweet surprise... 'the surprise of a lifetime.'"

"Yeah, she had a surprise for you..." Frank shook his head. "You're damn lucky her surprise didn't kill you."

Pale, Eastman continued. "She told me to lay back against the sofa cushions, kept saying, 'I've a got a sweet surprise for you, Papa... Baby has something just for you.' Then... then she said something that made no sense."

"What was that?"

"She asked me if I liked ice cream..."

Frank and Horatio exchanged surprised glances. _Ice cream?_

In spite of himself, Horatio shivered, feeling a sudden uncomfortable chill in the room. What was it that Rhea Brody had chanted in a ghostly, child-like voice? _You scream... I scream... we all scream for ice cream..._ Forcing the memory back, he turned his attention on Eastman and listened as the man continued.

"I said 'sure', and asked her if she wanted me to order some from Room Service. She smiled and said, 'Oh yes, Papa... but _afterwards_. We always have ice cream _afterwards_. Right now, your baby has other delights in mind.' She reached into the bag and pulled out the little white socks... I, uh... well, I figured play-time had arrived, you know? She was going to dress up for me...

"So I just sat back, waiting for her to start putting on her little dress, the socks... and she leaned forward and started... touching me, kissing me... telling me to 'relax', just close my eyes and 'let Baby do all the work.'

"And I did... I closed my eyes, and waited, listening to her breathing, feeling her... touching me. I heard something and opened my eyes slightly, expecting to see her changing into that dress..."

Eastman became visibly agitated and began to breathe rapidly. "I was still a bit drunk, and had to concentrate when I opened my eyes. I couldn't understand what I was seeing at first! Instead of the pink dress, I saw that she had pulled a hypodermic needle out of the bag and was looking at it, squirting a bit of its contents into the air... It spooked me, I tell you! The expression on her face as she looked at the needle... so different... so intent. Crazy. _Weird_. Scared the hell out of me, but it made me angry, too. I wondered what her angle was, what kind of scam she was pulling...

"Not stopping to think, I sat up quickly and knocked the damned thing out of her hands. It went flying across the room..."

* * *

_"What the hell are you doing?" Eastman screamed at the suddenly confused young woman, grabbing one of her hands in a tight grip. His exertions caused his bathrobe to gape open, exposing his white, flabby chest and rotund belly._

_Wrestling free, she scurried away from the sofa, panic-stricken. "Damn you! What have you done? Where's the needle? I have to find it! Where is it? Why did you carry on so? It was just something to help you relax... it's a relaxant. It was to make you feel good! No big deal." She got down on her hands and knees, groping about the carpet. "Where is it? Where is it?" she asked frantically._

_The effects of the alcohol quickly dissipated from Eastman's brain as he stared at her, and his face flooded with rage._

_"No big deal? You were just about to inject me with some drug, and it's no big deal? What's the plan - to dope me up, and then rob me? Sick bitch! You working with somebody? Get the hell out of here before I call the police!"_

_Baby stilled abruptly, stopping her frantic search for the needle. Her brows drew together and a fierce, dark look came over her face. A sly, nasty smile suddenly appeared, and her teeth looked feral and gleaming._

_"Are you threatening me, Papa? I don't think you want to do that. You might have a difficult time explaining me to the police, don't you think? Explaining your dirty little desires... the nasty Sunday afternoon rides... those ugly moments in the backseat. Now just hush up... let me think! I need to find that needle..."_

_"Sunday afternoon rides?" Eastman repeated, angrily. "What the hell are you talking about, you crazy bitch? I never saw you before tonight. You need to get the hell out of here. What was I thinking? Inviting somebody I didn't know to my room... What could I have been thinking?"_

_He watched the girl as she began to sway back and forth, muttering to herself. "Not supposed to end this way... not supposed to happen like this... messed up the equation... what to do? ...what to do?"_

_He shivered at the senseless mutterings and then reached down and yanked her up by the wrist. "Get out, now!"_

_Baby looked at him, an ugly, petulant look twisting her pretty face. "What's the matter, Papa? Don't you want to play anymore? I thought you liked our little games... I won't say anything, you know. I'm a good little girl. You know that. Not like Maxi. She won't play... so you leave her be. Just leave her be. Let's play! Let's you and me play. I want to play! Then we'll get some ice cream. It will all be okay. You'll see. Now hush!"_

_Dumbstruck, Eastman watched as the young woman took on the facial expressions of a child. She tilted her head and clasped her hands tightly together and brought them up toward her chest. Her eyes began to slowly close and, as if she were alone in the room, she began to croon softly in an eerie high-pitched voice:_

_Hush little baby, don't say a word_  
_Papa's gonna buy you a mocking bird_  
_And if that mocking bird won't sing_  
_Papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring_

_For the first time, genuinely frightened, Eastman began to back away from the girl. 'She's insane,' he thought to himself. His eyes drifted toward the table on which dinner had earlier been laid out. He made a quick movement toward the table and grabbed up the knife laying next to his plate._

_"Go on, get out of here. I'm done with you. Go on... get out!" he said, waving the knife at her, hoping to frighten her into leaving the room._

_The girl opened her eyes and a puzzled look crossed her face. "You're done with me? WITH ME? No, I don't think so, Papa. You don't take what you want and then just walk away. I say when we're done."_

_Frightened, Eastman made a quick, threatening gesture toward her with the knife. "Don't make me use this... you go on now and get out of here... get out!"_

_Baby quickly grabbed for his wrist, her eyes glowing queerly. Surprise worked in her favor, and she unexpectedly bent his wrist back toward his chest and dragged the knife's blade jaggedly across it. She then backed away slightly from Eastman, watching with rapt fascination as crone-like fingers of blood began a rapid descent down his lacerated chest toward his bulging belly._

_Not quite comprehending what had just happened, Eastman looked at the blood dripping down his chest and then at the young woman. Suddenly livid and not thinking clearly, he grabbed her as she stood there, statue-like, observing him, and they stumbled onto the sofa. Baby's forearms crashed into his chest, picking up the blood from the gaping wound. Abruptly freed from the trance she'd been in, she began to desperately push against him, anxious to flee._

_He felt searing pain as the girl gained purchase, and pushed herself off of him. He saw the look of panic and confusion in her eyes. Now weak with shock, he watched as she began running toward the door._

_Just for a moment, the girl paused, puzzled. She looked about the room, uncertain... as if she'd forgotten something. Eastman attempted to struggle to his feet, and his efforts caught her attention. Hastily, she turned, opened the door, and ran quickly from the room._

_Eastman sank back down into the sofa cushions, the aftereffects of the shock weakening him. He knew he needed to call for assistance, but the phone seemed so far away... just across the room, but it might have been a hundred miles. Resolutely, he forced himself to his feet. Dizzy, he staggered for a moment and then shakily made his way to the desk where the phone rested. He picked it up and called for assistance, hoping he would not pass out before it arrived._

* * *

Horatio listened as Eastman concluded his remarks, and then pulled the photographic still from his breast pocket. "Mr. Eastman, is this 'Baby'?"

Eastman looked at the photo and nodded. "That's a pretty poor photograph, Lieutenant... but yeah, that's her." He shuddered. "I thought she meant to knock me out... rob me. I was so angry at the thought I'd been taken in like a... a... a country bumpkin! So I fought back... had she not left the room, I might have killed her."

"Had she not left the room, pal, we'd probably be looking at your corpse right now," remarked Frank dryly. "We think this girl may be connected to some recent murders... and maybe a few older ones."

"Murder... Good Lord!" Eastman replied weakly. "Are we done now? I just want to be released... forget any of this happened. I want to go home."

Horatio's brows drew together. "No, we're not _done_. We're going to run a check on you, Mr. Eastman... to see if there's any suspicion of abuse in your background."

"What? You're kidding - you've gotta be! Look, I'm the injured party here! I was almost killed by that crazy broad! I've cooperated - told you everything I know. You've got nothing to hold me. I just went to a club, met a girl... was hoping for a little action."

"You might want to consider an attorney," remarked Horatio, as if he hadn't heard. "You've admitted to soliciting for sex. Don't worry... if you're clean, you're likely to get off with a suspended sentence... maybe a fine."

"A fine? A suspended sentence? Lieutenant, please, this could ruin me if it got out. What's the harm in letting this go? I've cooperated. And no money was ever exchanged - there was no sex."

An implacable expression settled on Horatio's face as he continued to regard Eastman with distaste. Listening to his self-pitying justifications and worries about his reputation grated on the lieutenant's nerves, and it was with a real sense of pleasure that he observed the man's apprehension.

"And the girl... she wasn't a child. She was of legal age - _legal age!_ I've never hurt my children... any children. This was just fantasy... that's all. Just fantasy," whined Eastman, tears beginning to fill his eyes. "_You can't blame a man just for what he's thinking, can you?_" he asked piteously.

An ugly look appeared on Horatio's face, and he and Frank walked toward the door, happy to be finished with the interview. Before leaving the room, Horatio turned and looked at Eastman.

"I don't like you, Mr. Eastman. I don't like your sick thoughts. I don't like your sniveling excuses. No... I don't like you at all. And I intend to run a background check on you. You better hope it turns up clean because if there is anything - if there is even the slightest indication of any sort of abuse in your background, I'll see that you're charged. And I'll take great pleasure in doing so."

Horatio's cold blue eyes flashed dangerously. "And... Mr. Eastman... you're wrong. A man can be blamed for what he is thinking. Thought is the precursor to action, sir. Now, you spend some time _thinking_ about that."

* * *

Maxine listened in stunned horror as Melanie chillingly recounted the events of the early morning hours, and realized with a sinking heart that the young woman was becoming more and more erratic in the telling of the story.

"So you see, right, Max? You understand why I had to do it, right?" asked the girl, holding her hands out, palms up, in supplication. Maxine's eyes focused on those hands, and with consternation she saw that Melanie's fingers possessed the same raw and bleeding cuticles as her own.

_Dear God_, she thought, looking at her own hands. She felt sick to her stomach, certain she was going to throw up. _What's happening? What's happening?_ The pounding in her head and the anxiety she was experiencing worked in tandem to cause her empty stomach to roil.

"You do see, don't you, Maxine?" repeated her sister. "It's about justice. I was trying to make him pay. He had to pay... but things went wrong. I don't understand why... I've always been so careful. You know that I've always been careful.

"It was the equation... he ruined the equation." Melanie began to ramble on, speaking to herself. "Remedy equals peace. Remedy equals justice. Remedy... remedy... you know the remedy, Maxi... there's only one remedy... bad men have to pay. _You know that, Maxi._ You know that! I've been hurting... so bad... so bad. I need to have a little peace. The only thing that ever brings peace is the remedy... you know that."

Maxine grabbed at the sides of her head, her hands covering her ears. "Shut up, Melanie! For God's sake, shut up! Shut up and let me think! How could you have been so stupid? You promised me that you had stopped all this! I thought you'd left it behind... This is what happens when you dwell on the past! Nothing good ever comes from it!"

Melanie tilted her head. "But Maxi, you know he had to pay. You know that. I did it for us. _For us, Maxi."_

Maxine refused to meet her eyes. Dropping her hands from her head, she looked dully at her damaged cuticles. "Pay?" she repeated listlessly. "Pay? The man responsible is dead. He's been dead for years. Why do you continue to do this? These men you choose... they're not him."

"They are all him, Maxine! All of them. _All_ nasty, dirty men who want to hurt you... make you cry... make you feel ugly."

"Do you think you left the drug there? It will be found... they'll trace things to you!"

"No, no... they won't. I've been careful!"

"Careful?" Maxine laughed harshly. "You left the drug there... you used a knife on that guy... you think you haven't left a blueprint behind? Be logical, for God's sake!"

"But that's what I have _you_ for, Maxi... You're the logical one. The smart one... the one able to compartmentalize. You'll figure it out. You always do."

Maxine closed her eyes, allowing the throbbing pain in her head to wash over her. _Yes, she always did... but she was so tired. So very tired. And sick._

* * *

Ryan heard the familiar voice as he held the phone close to his ear. "Mr. Wolfe? Do you have something for me?"

"Yeah, H, we do. We found the knife; we're taking it back to the lab for blood and epithelium analysis. Also found some strands of hair near the sofa."

"That's good," said the distinctive voice of his boss. "Anything else?"

"Well, as a matter of fact, yes. We hit pay dirt - found the syringe, contents still inside."

"Excellent! I'll want a report as soon as possible, Mr. Wolfe."

"We're on it, H." Ryan ended the call and looked at Walter.

"The boss man happy?" asked Walter.

"What do you think? Our first break in this case... yeah, he's happy. C'mon, let's clear out." Picking up his kit, Ryan followed Walter from Eastman's room. As they approached the elevator, its doors suddenly opened, and the lovely Blandine L'Engle stepped out, causing Ryan's face to light up with pleasure.

"Gentlemen... have you finished your work here?" she asked, ignoring Walter and looking deeply into Ryan's susceptible eyes.

"Yes, Ms. L'Engle. Thank you - I hope we haven't disrupted things too much. We've very grateful for your cooperation," said Ryan, causing Walter to roll his eyes. _Cooperation?_

"Hey, Ry, I'm heading back to the lab. I'll meet you there," said Walter, his expression sour. There was only so much he could take of Ryan's dopey-eyed infatuation with the French beauty. _What a dreamer Wolfe is_, he thought. _This lady will chew him up and spit him out!_

Not turning his attention from Blandine, Ryan replied, "Sure... sure... be there shortly."

"Yeah, yeah," Walter muttered, turning away. "You better be or Horatio will have your ass. He wants that report ASAP."

After Walter left, Blandine tilted her head, appraising the young CSI and turning the full power of her charm on him. "So, Mr. Wolfe, you are happy? You have what you came for? What you were looking for?"

Ryan grinned. _Do I ever!_

He hesitated a moment, unsure how to proceed, and then finally spit it out. "Ms. L'Engle... uh... would you consider having dinner with me some evening?"

A smoky look appeared in Blandine's eyes and a slow, devastating smile touched her pretty lips, causing Ryan's heart to beat just a little faster. His head suddenly filled with fantasies of the tall, curvaceous Blandine stretched out across his bed...

"Oui," she replied, her charming accent having its intended effect on the already-conquered Ryan. Something about the young man appealed to Blandine. His boyish tentativeness, perhaps... or maybe it was the fact he seemed so smitten with her. Either way, she found herself amused at his apparent captivation and also attracted to the handsome CSI. "I would enjoy that, Mr. Wolfe."

Moments later, Ryan got into the elevator, grinning from ear to ear, and feeling very satisfied with himself. _Hell of a morning,_ he thought. _Made the boss happy, might be on my way to solving a case, and I met a goddess! Yeah, a hell of a morning..._

TBC


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-two - Puzzles

"Hey, Bobbi, Calleigh tells me that you'll be processing the samples we took from the hotel this morning," said Ryan. He placed his kit on the lab table in the DNA analyst's room. "Here's the stuff from Eastman's suite." He began removing the samples from his kit when he happened to glance her way. She was not happy.

Bobbi Russell's usually cheerful face was dark with annoyance and she looked at him with irritation. "That's right. Valera is late this morning... who knows if she'll make it in at all? That's her MO lately... never showing up for work. I don't know what's up with her, but it's beginning to annoy the hell out of me."

Thinking back to a few days ago when he'd seen Valera in the hall, Ryan frowned. "Not very sympathetic, are you? She looked pretty rough when I saw her the other day... Calleigh says she's been ill."

The pretty analyst held her hand up, the palm facing Ryan. "Oh no you don't! You stop right there!" she said emphatically. "You will _not_ make me feel guilty for being angry about Valera's continued absences. I'm carrying two workloads at present - hers and mine! So she's got headaches! She should see a doctor and get some medicine, for God's sake. I can't continue to carry her cases and my own - pretty soon, I'll be the one needing a doctor!"

"Okay, okay... down, girl!" Ryan raised his hands in mock surrender. "I get what you're saying, and I'm sorry. You're right; I'm too quick to judge. I wasn't trying to make you feel guilty - I know you've got a full plate; I just wasn't thinking...

"But, look, I hate to push you... but could you make the Eastman stuff a priority? Normally, I wouldn't push considering your workload... but Horatio is hot to get the results on this... you know how it is."

"Yeah," she said, disgusted. "I know how it is. Everything is always a priority around here. I'm just one person, Ryan! I can't do everything and all at once."

Ryan gave her his best sad boy look. "Please? For me? I'll make it up to you somehow."

She studied him for a moment and then, in spite of her ill-temper, she suddenly smiled. She genuinely liked Ryan. At times, she found his manner endearing; this was one of those times, especially as his dark brown eyes currently held a look of pleading. She sighed heavily.

"Okay, sure. Why not? It's _not_ like I have anything else to do today. I'll move your stuff to the top of my to-do list." She shook her head. "I don't know why I don't get a more sensible job - one with a reasonable workload."

Ryan grinned. "Bobbi, you're the best! Thanks, kiddo."

"Yes, well, don't think I'm not going to have a little talk with Valera when Her Ladyship finally deigns to show up," grumbled Bobbi. "She owes me big time. And I'm not one to forget it either."

* * *

**BUZZ... BUZZ... BUZZ...**

_What is that noise,_ she thought groggily.

**BUZZ... BUZZ... BUZZ...**

_The phone... it's the phone._ Wearily, Maxine turned over in the bed. _Now where did I put the damn phone?_

She saw it on the night table and grabbed for it.

"Maxine Valera," she said, her voice raspy with sleep.

"Maxine! Where _are_ you? Do you know what time it is?"

"Calleigh?"

"YES, it's_ Calleigh!_ Are you okay? You didn't call in... why aren't you here?"

Maxine sat up, her mind gradually clearing. _What time is it?_ she wondered. She glanced at the clock and saw it was eleven-thirty. Almost lunch time! She'd overslept.

"Oh, God. Calleigh! I'm so sorry... I don't know what happened... I just slept through my alarm, I guess... Look, give me an hour or so and I'll be in. I promise. I'll work late... I'll make it up. I promise!"

"Okay... but are you _sure_ you're okay? Are you up to coming in?"

"I'll be there, don't worry about it. ...uh, Calleigh... does Horatio know?"

"No, he has been out and about on the Bobbysox case this morning; he hasn't come in yet."

Inexplicably, Maxine felt her mood darken at the mention of the Bobbysox case. _Why? _Something was in the back of her mind about that... but she couldn't call it up. _What was it?_

"Maxine?" asked Calleigh, concerned by the silence on the other end of call. "Are you still there?"

"Yes, yes, I'm here. Look, Calleigh... can you do me a favor? Could you not mention I was late to Horatio? He's already none too pleased with me. I promise not to let this happen again... Cover for me, just this once?"

Calleigh hesitated. "I don't know, Maxine... I don't keep things from Horatio. And you shouldn't either."

"Well, maybe you could just not bring it up? If he learns about it and asks about it, then you could say something... but if not, well, could you just cut me some slack this one time? Please?"

Again, troubled, Calleigh hesitated. "We'll see. I'll think about it. In the meantime, if you're coming in, you'd best get to it. I'll see you later."

Maxine terminated the call and looked about the bedroom. She rubbed her forehead, wondering why she was suddenly so depressed. It was the mention of the Bobbysox case... But why? Why did that bother her so?

She recalled getting up earlier that morning. She'd gone into the bathroom to get ready for work... why had she gone back to bed? She knew she had to be at work.

Uneasy, she looked again about the room, feeling that there was something that she should be seeing. _Something... but what? What am I missing?_ Her forehead wrinkled with the effort of trying to remember. _There's something not right; what is it?_

But everything looked the same as before. Nothing was out of place.

She finally dragged herself to her feet and went into the bathroom. It was then that she saw the still damp rag she had placed over her eyes earlier that morning. Looking into the mirror, she was upset to see how red her eyes looked and how bluish the circles beneath them. _Nothing to be done about it,_ she thought, and opened the medicine cabinet above the sink. _I'll just have to use a lot of concealer under my make-up._

Reaching into the cabinet, she pulled out a bottle of extra-strength Excedrine, determined to fight the dull ache that was threatening to bloom into something more. She poured a glass of water and then swallowed two tablets. About to return the bottle to the cabinet, she paused, considering. After a moment, she hastily gulped down two additional pills and grimmaced at the bitter taste.

_To quote Nietzsche,_ she thought with grim humor,_ 'what doesn't kill me will only make me stronger...' or at least enable me to function._

She went back into the bedroom and hesitated, her brow furrowed with confusion. Again, she looked around the room. _What am I looking for?_ she wondered. _What was here, but now... isn't?_

The answer eluded her and, frustrated, she soon gave up trying to remember. Shaking her head in irritation, she returned to the bathroom, determined to shower and dress for the day ahead. Soon, all of her attention was centered on the stress of dealing with a neglected workload and her worry about Horatio's reaction if he should learn she'd missed more time...

_except... except... there was that headache... dull, persistent... growing... mushrooming..._

She stepped quickly into the shower and turned the water on full blast, and felt its steamy warmth cascade over her tired face and aching temples. She raised her hands, palms flush against the warm bath tiles, and allowed her head to fall forward under the gushing water.

Already the familiar pain was beginning to pick and nibble at the outer edges of rational thought... the hot water did little to ease the discomfort.

_So much to think about. So... much. So hard to concentrate... hard... what was she forgetting?_

The now deserted bedroom kept its own secrets. As did the clothes hamper sitting in the corner of the room.

And so it was that Maxine never noticed the barely visible bit of fabric poking outside the top of the hamper ... or its stain of rusty brown.

* * *

"Well, hello gorgeous!" said Lauren, looking up in happy surprise from the paperwork on her desk. She smiled with pleasure at the unexpected sight of Horatio standing in the doorway of her office at PCFM. "What are you doing here? You rarely come by to see me!"

Grinning boyishly, he closed the door behind him and walked over to where she was sitting. He took her hands in his, and urged her out of the chair. Surprised, she looked at him, her eyes puzzled. Before she could say anything further, he took her into his arms and kissed her. Soundly.

After a moment, she drew back and looked into his eyes which were bright with warmth. "Well, Lieutenant... that was some greeting. What are you doing here?"

Rubbing his hands gently against the smooth pale waves that fell almost to her waist, he grinned. "Well, you know I had that meeting this morning with Mademoiselle Bombshell... got me all hot and bothered..."

Lauren's eyes narrowed in pretended irritation. "Is that so? So you came here, looking for some... satisfaction?"

"Mmm-hmm... how about another kiss, mademoiselle?" he said teasingly, as he made ready to lower his mouth toward hers again.

"I think not," she said hastily, withdrawing from his embrace. "If you have a thing for French mademoiselles, I don't see how I can help you."

His eyes full of laughter, Horatio tilted his head and pretended to think. "Well... let's see. Maybe once in awhile... you could speak with a French accent? Or... hmm, maybe some night you might dress up in some skimpy, little black and white, lacy French maid thing? No, wait - I've got it! Maybe, um... maybe let me call you "FiFi" or something like that... what do you think?"

"I think you're dreaming, Lieutenant," she said, her eyes full of amusement. She sat back down at her desk. "Now, really, why are you here?"

Smiling, Horatio sat in the chair across from her. "Missed you. Felt badly about leaving you so early this morning..."

"Well, it was work, right? What choice did you have?"

"None, really. And I think we might have a break in the case. Just finished interviewing the would-be victim of our lady killer."

"I'll bet that was interesting."

"More than you know... an unsavory type. But here's the thing: I think I'm going to be working a bit later this evening, but wondered... would you like to come by the house afterward? Maybe dinner? Stay over?"

Lauren looked at him. "You're just full of surprises today, aren't you? Are you sure you want to do this? You could come to my place afterward..."

He smiled. "Lauren, you're worried about Kyle."

"Aren't you?"

"A little," he admitted. "But don't you think it's time we took some chances? You're important to me... a part of my life now. Kyle knows that. Perhaps it's time to stop walking on eggshells... how are we going to have a normal life... if we don't start trying? All of us?"

She reached across the desk for his hand, and brought it to her lips. He watched, surprised, as she turned his palm up and kissed it. Her eyes were shinning. "You don't know how happy this makes me... that you want me to... that you're letting me in." She stopped suddenly, unable to continue, her throat full.

He seemed to realize what she was feeling. He was about to lean forward, over the desk, and kiss her again when a knock sounded on the door.

Quickly, Lauren dropped his hand and cleared her throat. "Come in."

Alexx Woods opened the door and, behind her, stood a tall, elegant man of early middle age. He would have been handsome had there been less severity in his bearing and more warmth in his expression.

When Alexx saw Horatio sitting in Lauren's office, her eyes widened with surprise. "Sorry to interrupt, Lauren. Horatio - how are you? Come to take Lauren to lunch?"

"Nope," he said smiling, and quickly stood up. "I've got to get back to the lab." He turned toward Lauren and gave her a private smile. "Tonight - see you?"

She nodded.

"Good." He winked at her, and then turned back to face Alexx, who was closely watching them both. Whatever she thought she saw, it pleased her, and she beamed at the two of them, her satisfaction apparent.

Catching the pleased look, Horatio grinned at his friend. "Well, Alexx, I'm sorry I can't stay, but I've got to get going. We'll talk soon... lunch... okay?"

"Sure, Lieutenant... but first, I want you to meet someone." She turned to the man standing next to her. "Lauren, Horatio... this is Dr. Finn Harper. Dr. Harper is joining the staff. He's going to head up the team that provides our mobile medical services."

Alexx's chocolate brown eyes sparkled and Horatio understood why. Positive Change For Miami, better known as 'PCFM', was her 'baby'. She been brought into the organization in its infancy, and during the years Horatio had known her, she'd devoted many _pro bono_ hours to helping it achieve success. Alexx was proud of the services the organization brought to the community. As a member of PCFM's governing committee, she had been instrumental in bringing Lauren on board when her position with the Mayor's office had terminated.

Alexx pointed toward Lauren and continued. "Finn, you'll find that Lauren Chambers will be very effective in helping you publicize the work the mobile medical unit does... and also effective in helping you raise money to support it. I've told him all about you, Lauren."

Finn Harper looked at the beautiful blonde and nodded. Something flickered briefly in his dark green eyes, but then they became remote and unreadable. He offered Lauren a cool smile and shook her hand. "Ms. Chambers," he acknowledged. "Dr. Woods is one of your biggest fans. She's quite impressed with the work you do on behalf of this organization. I look forward to working with you."

Turning his attention toward Horatio, he looked puzzled. Alexx noted his curiosity. "And this is Lieutenant Horatio Caine of the MDPD... he's Lauren's... friend."

Shaking Horatio's hand, Harper nodded. "Ah... yes... I believe I've seen you on the news, Lieutenant... keeping Miami safe. Isn't that correct?"

Horatio gave the man an appraising look. "Something like that."

"I'm so... pleased... to meet one of Miami's finest," said Harper, his cool tone seeming to mean the opposite. He turned his attention back to Alexx. "Alexx, I'd like to meet the other staff now, if you don't mind."

"Sure." Following Harper from the office, Alexx quickly turned toward Horatio and Lauren and shrugged, and then hurried on her way.

Horatio looked at Lauren. "Well, he's an odd fellow."

Lauren, unsettled by the man's coldness, agreed.

* * *

_Several hours later..._

Bobbi Russell's forehead was knit in concentration. _How can this be?_ she wondered. _Surely this isn't right._

Yet... she'd run the analysis several times, not believing what the comparison turned up.

Yes, checked and re-checked.

And still the results were the same. _How can this be?_

"Bobbi, have you completed the DNA analysis on the Langston woman yet? We're sort of at a standstill until we have the results of the analysis." Natalia was standing in the doorway, watching Bobbi. "I wanted to go over the results with... Bobbi? Are you listening to me?"

Bobbi looked up suddenly. "Natalia... I'm sorry; I didn't notice you standing there." She frowned, looking down at the papers in her hand.

"I'd say not, considering that you seem a thousand miles away," said Nat cheerfully. "So, what about the Langston woman?"

"Hmm? Oh... the Langston woman. No, I'm sorry, I haven't had a chance to get to that yet. Horatio wanted the samples taken this morning from the Excelsior hotel given top priority." She looked meaningfully at Natalia. "Part of the Bobbysox murder investigation."

Natalia nodded in understanding. "Okay... Well, soon as you can, please." She started to turn away but, noting the analyst's disquiet, she paused. "Bobbi, is something wrong? You seem... disturbed. Is it the case?"

Bobbi looked at Natalia with disbelief. "Nat, you're not going to believe this," she said, waving the analysis results. "Look at this."

Natalia took the pages in hand and quickly reviewed them. Suddenly, she gasped in astonishment, and then slowly met Bobbi's eyes.

"Are you _sure_ about this?"

The other woman nodded. "Yes... I ran the results several times. It's conclusive."

Natalia took a deep breath. "We need to tell Horatio. _Now._"

TBC


	23. Chapter 23

_**(Apologies for posting Chapter 23 again... found some typos and formatting errors that I didn't catch late last night when I published... and that nagging little 'editor' who lives inside my head couldn't allow them to stand. I really try not to make a habit of this, so I hope you'll forgive me this time. Jasmine)**_

Chapter Twenty-three - Tilting at Windmills

"Hey, 'Ratio, wait up," called Frank, hurrying toward the lieutenant, who was about to enter the MDPD building.

Horatio turned and waited for his friend to approach. "Francis."

The two men, falling in step, walked through the doors of the building. Glancing at the detective, Horatio asked, "Did you have lunch with Lucy?"

"No, what I did was run a background check on Eastman."

"Find anything?"

"No, the guy's clean... sick fantasies, maybe, but apparently clean. No past history of abuse. Seems he was telling the truth... first time, apparently, that he stepped out on the missus."

"Hmm, yes... first time... and not very good luck. So... he's clean," mused Horatio. "Still, his penchant for fantasizing about young girls is worrisome. I don't like it... or him."

"Want to put the word out on him when he goes back to Pittsburgh? Have someone keep an eye on him for awhile? I know some guys in the PD there..."

Horatio smiled. It seemed Frank always knew 'some guys' somewhere. It often came in handy. He considered for a moment. "Yeah... let's do that... at least, temporarily. And let's let him know we're watching him... might keep him in line. He didn't impress me as particularly brave."

Frank nodded. "Something else... you ever hear of Jolene Perkins?"

"Jolene Perkins..." repeated Horatio, trying to remember. "She's run a few establishments, hasn't she? As I recall, she's been picked up on suspicions of running a prostitution ring once or twice."

"Yeah, that's her. Word about town is that in her youth she was quite the knock-out. Got her start stripping in her home town - Little Rock, Arkansas... then became a 'business woman', if you get my drift. Moved down to Miami. Anyway, she ain't such a beauty now, in her late sixties, lots of wear and tear. She's been brought in two, maybe three times on the prostitution thing. Never could hold her... couldn't prove it."

"She has powerful friends, Frank. Or used to... down at City Hall."

"She's also the broad who owns the club Eastman went to last night."

Horatio stopped. "Really? How did you find that out?"

"Wolfe called me... said they found a card on Eastman's hotel desk. It had the name of the club on it. Nothing fancy, just the words 'Tender Enchantment'. On the back of the card, it said 'Jolene' and provided a number. So I went to the address Eastman had given us earlier; decided to pay a visit to good ol' Jolene."

"And?"

"Just one guy inside the club - some old black man, wiping off tables, mopping up the floors, getting ready for the evening trade, I guess. It's pretty much a dump, Horatio... kind of seedy. Not the sort of place you'd think a businessman might go. The guy confirmed Jolene's the owner of the 'establishment' - if you can call it that. Anyway, I showed the old man a picture of our mystery girl, asked him if she worked at the club. Says he never saw her before."

"Think you can believe him?"

"Yeah... he seemed on the level. I asked him about the club. He told me it was a social club for men who liked young women... it was their gimmick - young women who dressed up as little girls. Guess he didn't like the look on my face - he told me I could check Jolene's girls out... they were of legal age."

"Or so their driver's licenses would have us believe, I'll bet."

"You want to run a check on the club, the girls?"

"You know it."

"Alright... I'll get on it. But it sounds like a dead end to me."

"In this case? Probably. But it still doesn't hurt to check the club out. Gimmick or not, the whole set-up disgusts me. If we find out any of the 'girls' are just that - under legal age... I'm going to shut them down. Personally."

Frank sighed. He was a pragmatic man. He saw that in Horatio as well - most of the time. But there were times when his friend seemed too willing to be a one-man crusader. It was one of the things about Horatio that exasperated him; it was also one of the things that made him love him. Had Frank been a literary man, he might have described the lieutenant as a modern-day 'Don Quixote'. As it was, he just shook his head in resignation.

"You know, Horatio, you can't stomp out people's secret fantasies... or all the places that cater to them."

"Maybe not, Frank, but perhaps I can do something about _this_ one, at least. I aim to try, anyway."

They started to pass by the reception desk when Janine stopped them. "Lieutenant?"

Horatio turned toward the receptionist. "Ma'am?"

"Natalia Boa Vista has been asking for you... says it's urgent... it relates to the case you were investigating this morning."

Horatio and Frank looked at each other. _What now?_

"Please page Ms. Boa Vista and ask her to come to my office. Coming, Frank?" he asked, already heading toward the elevators.

* * *

Horatio stood in his office, looking at the results of the DNA analysis Natalia had handed him. Incredulous, he finally looked up from the pages and stared at his colleagues. Natalia, Calleigh and Frank, also in shock, stared back at him.

"She's certain?" he asked Natalia. "She ran the results twice?"

"More than twice, Horatio," said Nat. "Bobbi was so shocked by the results that she ran the analysis several times."

Slowly, Horatio lowered himself into his chair and placed his elbows on his desk. Stunned, he dropped his head into his hands. "I don't understand this," he said softly. "There has to be... some other explanation."

"Maxine... oh, Maxine," murmured Calleigh, her face a mask of confusion - and something else. "I just can't believe it, Horatio." She looked down at the floor, trying to master her feelings._ I should have known... I should have known something wasn't right,_ she thought, her stomach roiling with guilt. _She's acted so queerly... but this? How could I have ever guessed this?_

Frank shook his head, bewildered. "You never know about people, do you? Not really. I never figured Maxine for a killer."

"She's been so sick lately," said Calleigh with wonder. "Headaches... dizziness... Horatio, you know that! You sent her home once. Remember?"

Horatio raised his head and looked at Calleigh. "Yes... yes, I do."

The expression on Horatio's face reflected his disbelief and pain. Calleigh felt her heart begin to race as she stared at him and sensed his feelings of betrayal and guilt. The blue eyes gazing back at hers looked dull and wounded, and Calleigh tore her gaze from them, unable to bear it, her heart hurting for him... for Maxine... for the team. Knowing her lieutenant, she understood only too well that he was blaming himself.

Dazed, he glanced again at the DNA results. _What did I miss? How did this happen?_

He cleared his throat and made an effort to focus his thoughts. "This makes no sense," he said, laying aside the results, and opening up the file on his desk. "The murders in Miami... all along they've seemed connected to those several years ago in Mobile, Alabama. Once Tom identified the paralytic agent utilized here in Miami, the Mobile PD knew what to look for and were able to confirm its presence in the brain tissue of the Mobile victims. And it's the same MO for all the murders: the sock stuffed into the vic's throat, the cigarette burns on the sexual organs, and the injection sites for the drug. Yet... Maxine was here then... working for us."

"Copycat?" asked Frank.

Horatio frowned. "Maxine? Doesn't seem likely... what would be the motive? This is Maxine we're talking about... we know this woman."

"Do we?" wondered Calleigh, almost too softly for anyone to hear.

Ignoring the remark, Horatio said, "We'll have to send Maxine's DNA profile to Mobile - have them run a comparison against what was found on the vics... now that we have a possible match to compare with their evidence, we should be able to make a positive connection... or not. I'll want you to take care of that STAT, Natalia."

"Of course," she replied, her pretty face sad. "I don't see how she could have committed the murders in Mobile, though... and if somehow she did, why did she stop for several years? And how was she able to fool us for so long? Horatio, how can this be?"

Suddenly, jarringly, a bitter laugh escaped Frank's lips. "Well, so much for psychics..."

Puzzled, Calleigh asked, "What do you mean?"

"What Frank means," said Horatio heavily, "is that he and I paid a visit to a Mrs. Rhea Brody... a woman who claims to have second-sight. She said she was having visions connected with the murders."

This was news to both Calleigh and Natalia. The two women looked at each other.

Chagrined, Horatio noted their astonishment and unease. _Was I too busy on a wild goose chase, trying to appease an old man who was once kind to me... too busy to notice the problem was in my own backyard?_ He forced himself to swallow the acrid taste of self-reproach that rose up in his throat.

"Some second sight," Frank remarked bitterly. "She put on a real horse-and-pony show for us... talking in a strange, creepy voice, putting on an act as though she were a demented child. And we got caught up in it. All that second-sight and she couldn't see the killer was right here in this lab? She played us, Horatio, like a couple of rubes."

"She seemed... sincere... well-intentioned." _Sincerity? What do you know about sincerity?_ he asked himself harshly. _Or the intentions of others? Maxine! Oh, Maxine._

Frank continued to grumble. "All that crap she fed us about two sisters... Well, what do you want to do, Horatio? Is Valera in today?"

Before Horatio could answer, Natalia interrupted, startled by Frank's comment. "Frank... sisters? What did Mrs. Brody say about 'sisters'?"

Frank looked uncomfortable for a moment. "Well, Mrs. Brody said she had a vision of two girls - sisters. She seemed to think one of the girls was abused and that she was murdering these men in fits of rage. It was her way of achieving... justice." He saw the look Natalia was giving him, and he suddenly felt foolish.

"Doesn't seem to have anything to do with Maxine, however," he admitted quickly. "It's her DNA that shows up in the analysis... not somebody else's."

"But, Frank... Maxine's a twin." Natalia turned to Horatio and repeated, "A twin, Horatio. How odd the woman would mention 'sisters'..."

"How do you know this, Natalia?" asked Horatio, his eyes drilling hers, as an avid, wistful look appeared on his face.

Nat sensed the sudden eagerness in Horatio. He was gazing at her intently, waiting for her to go on. "That day in your office... when you asked me to take Maxine home, remember? She was sick, and you didn't want her going home alone. While at her place, I saw an old photo of she and her twin sister. They were identical, Horatio."

"Maxine really has a twin?" asked Frank. "How did Brody know that, Horatio? Goddam... could it be that Maxine's sister is responsible for the murders?" A slight thrill ran swiftly through his body, raising the hair on his arms; until that moment, he hadn't really put any credence into Rhea Brody's ramblings.

Horatio didn't notice the astonished look that Frank was directing his way. He was too caught up in his own emotions; hope had flared sudden and bright in Horatio's heart at the possibility of a twin._ Not Maxine! Not Maxine!_

"Well, it would explain a lot, wouldn't it?" he asked, almost too eagerly. "The DNA results... identical twins have the same DNA make-up..."

Natalia frowned. "It's not her twin, Horatio," she said gently.

"Why do you say that, Nat?" asked Calleigh. The soft anger in her voice was unmistakable. Like Horatio, she too had experienced a flutter of hope when Natalia mentioned Maxine had a twin sister. In her heart, she found it difficult to reconcile the quiet, funny Maxine with the grisly murders that had been committed. She shared her boss's feeling of self-recrimination and was castigating herself for perhaps missing clues all along. _It's my job to evaluate people, to be analytical... how could I have missed that something was seriously wrong with Maxine? One of our own... Maxine is one of our own..._

Calleigh's green eyes filmed over as she thought about the analyst. _I've worked with Maxine for years, yet I never bothered to really get to know her. Nat hasn't known her half as long, yet knows more about her than I do. What does that say about me? Maybe if I'd taken the time to be her friend and not just a colleague..._

Nat smiled sadly as she watched the play of emotions on Calleigh's face. When she turned to speak to Horatio, she saw the same emotions, and she hated what she was about to say. "I'm sorry, Horatio... Calleigh. I know you want to believe someone else is responsible. So do I. But Maxine told me her sister died years ago... a car crash."

She watched as Horatio slowly accepted this piece of information. Hope drained from his eyes. After a moment, he squared his shoulders. "Do we know this for certain?" he asked.

"Well, no... it's not like I grilled her about her family, Horatio," she said lightly. "Maxine's headaches were so bad that day - and she seemed upset that I had seen the photo. She made it clear that she felt I was invading her privacy. And she was not forthcoming about her family at all... she just told me she had a twin sister who died in a car crash years ago... the sister's name was Melanie.

"Odd... now that I think about it..." Nat stopped, confusion on her face.

"Natalia?" asked Horatio, studying her expression. "What are you thinking?"

"Not thinking... remembering. When Maxine told me her sister had died in a car accident, I remarked on how terrible it must have been to lose a sister."

"Yes?"

"Well, she said that it was worse when you were a twin because there was a sympathetic connection... what one sister experienced, the other felt. She said it had been just the two of them against the world. 'Co-conspirators' was the way she put it. What could she have meant by that, Horatio?"

_What could she have meant?_ Uneasily, his mind drifted back to the conversation he and Frank had with Rhea Brody once the woman had recovered from the visions she'd experienced:

_"Mrs. Brody, the girls - they were sisters?" Frank asked._

_"I think so, Detective. I got the feeling there was a powerful connection... the kind only family has. And that feeling of protectiveness - it was the kind of protection one feels for a brother... or a sister. The one little girl... she wouldn't let me see... she was fierce in blocking me from seeing the other..."_

_"So you think the stronger sister was protecting the weaker one," mused Horatio. "How so?"_

_Rhea directed a level gaze at the lieutenant. "I believe she was taking on the... advances... of that man, keeping him away from her sister. That weaker girl let her, just wanted to forget, get away. I imagine that girl feels a lot of guilt about that."_

_"But she, herself, was just a child," said Horatio._

_"Age don't matter to the heart, Lieutenant. Don't you sometimes feel guilt about things that happened when you were a child, things that were beyond your control?"_

The memory of the conversation troubled him, and Horatio walked over to his window and looked out at the grounds. He was still trying to process the revelation that Maxine was probably responsible for the murders of several men. Was the tie between the sisters really so strong? Did Maxine feel guilty about the abuse suffered by her sister - so guilty that she'd go on a murder spree? No. It made no sense. _Why now? Why now?_

He squelched the sigh of frustration that threatened to erupt. Without turning his gaze from the window, he said briskly, "Alright. Here's what I want you to do, Natalia. I want you to run a check on Maxine. I want you to see what you can find out about her family, particularly her sister."

"Melanie," mused Frank. "Maxine, Melanie, murder, Miami, Mobile. See a pattern here?"

"Yes, Frank," said Horatio tiredly. "All begin with the letter **M**."

Unwillingly, his thoughts again drifted to Rhea, and he recalled the **M** she saw in her visions. 'Blood red,' she'd said... the letters dripping as if from blood... Something else. _What_ _was it?_ Oh yes... The **M** she'd envisioned was broken... almost in half. Broken. _Like Maxine, herself? Or the relationship with her sister?_

"Calleigh, is Maxine here in the lab?"

The blond had been staring once again at the floor, her shoulders heavy with sadness. At the mention of her name, she looked up at Horatio. "Yes, Horatio... she's here. She's in the lab. When Nat told me..." she stopped for a moment, her voice rich with unshed tears. She took a second or two, and began again, more composed. "When Nat told me about the DNA results, I placed one of our people near her station. Told him to stay out of sight, but to let me know if she started to leave. Horatio! I just didn't really believe any of this! She shouldn't even be in the lab!"

"Okay, Calleigh, okay. Don't second guess your decisions. This has hit all of us hard. Now here is what I want you to do. I want you to head over to her station, keep an eye on things. If she starts to leave, find a way to restrain her. Call me. In the meantime, we'll get the results of the search on her family completed."

Calleigh nodded and started to turn away. "Calleigh?"

She turned to face the lieutenant. "This isn't your fault, okay? None of us saw this coming. Understand?"

She nodded. "But we should have, Horatio. We should have."

Horatio's lips thinned as she walked away. _She's right_, he thought angrily. His cold eyes carelessly wandered the surface of his desk, coming to rest upon the photograph of Lauren that sat there.

What was it that Lauren had later said to him of her unexpected meeting with Maxine at a riding stable one afternoon? Suddenly, he recalled Lauren's exact words: _Maxine __seemed... strange, slightly out of sorts. Maybe she really was sick. She... well, she didn't seem to recognize me at first. And, when she did, she was cold - distant._

He remembered confronting Maxine about the meeting with Lauren. Initially, she had looked genuinely confused, had seemed to challenge Lauren's recollection. Yes, at first. But then... then she'd... then she'd admitted to the meeting!

And had promptly gotten ill. So ill that Horatio had sent her home in Natalia's company.

"Something else, Natalia," he said, looking at the brunette. "I want you to call Quinn's Riding Stables. Maxine has been seen working there... part-time."

"Maxine? At a riding stable? I would have never guessed she'd be working, part-time or otherwise, at a stable!"

"Apparently, there's a lot we wouldn't have guessed about Valera," said Frank, his brows drawn sharply together.

Nat's voice faltered. "Yes... I suppose that's true."

"Find out," continued Horatio, "the names of their part-time employees. Quickly, please."

Natalia nodded and hurriedly left Horatio's office.

"So what now?" asked Frank. "Want to go and get her?"

"Not yet, Frank. Calleigh has her eye on her. Let's see what Natalia finds out. I want to know what we're dealing with. I have a bad feeling about this." He pulled out his cell and punched in a number.

"You have a _bad_ feeling? You're the master of understatement, Horatio. We think she's killed several men in Miami... and you have a _bad_ feeling?"

Impassively, Horatio looked at Frank, while waiting for his party to pick up the call. "Frank, I do. I think we have a... a situation... on our hands that I'm not sure how to deal with. In fact, I'm not sure I'm _equipped_ to deal with it."

He paused, and licked his lips nervously. "Something is very wrong here, Francis."

Suddenly, he heard the warm, rich molasses voice on the other end of the line and his discomfort eased slightly. "Alexx? I need you."

* * *

It had been at least an hour and a half since Horatio had asked her to keep an eye on Valera. She'd heard little from him since then... two short text messages, asking for a status report on Valera's activities. Status? Nothing new... Valera was quietly working in the lab, intent on her assignments.

Unobtrusively, Calleigh played at concentrating on paperwork in a lab across from Valera's. It was the perfect vantage point from which to observe her colleague's actions without raising her suspicions. Calleigh's outward demeanor was calm, professional, seemingly focused on the paperwork in front of her; however, inwardly, Calleigh was a mess.

Her mind kept replaying the results of the DNA analysis, rebelling against the certitude of what the report showed. It didn't seem reasonable... possible. Paying close attention to the movements of Valera, Calleigh was perplexed.

_She seems okay... involved in her work... quiet... efficient. Could it be they were wrong? Please, God! Maybe they had it all wrong. Maybe Horatio, at this very minute, was pinning the crime on someone else. If anyone could figure it out, it was Horatio._

Puzzled, the blond ballistics expert continued to secretly observe Valera.

Her thoughts drifted toward her lieutenant. She knew how much Horatio trusted her, valued her judgment. He had always unquestioningly supported her. That vote of confidence came with a heavy cost - she knew she could never let him down. Still, it spurred her to do her best... as he would, in similar circumstances.

He was her mentor. Her friend. She loved him in a way that most of her co-workers couldn't understand: not as a lover, but as person she could never disappoint, and who she'd never willingly part from. Yes, her friend - forever. It made her cringe to think she might have disappointed him... let him down by missing something important.

Calleigh realized her opinion of Horatio Caine veered toward hero worship, and it was devastating to her to consider that she may have missed something vital that would have spared him and the lab the embarrassment to come if, indeed, Valera was guilty.

Watching Valera, Calleigh wondered again if she and the team were missing something. Valera seemed fine. Perhaps, by now, Horatio had learned something that might exonerate Valera. Like a child hoping for some fantastical Christmas gift, she found herself closing her eyes and saying a silent prayer: _please, God, don't let it be Valera._

* * *

Walking into Horatio's office, Alexx Woods stopped. She was stricken by the look on Horatio's face. Quickly, she glanced at Frank. As if reading her mind, he nodded and gestured toward Horatio.

"Horatio, honey... what's wrong? Your message... so strange, mysterious. Tell me, what's going on? How can I help?"

Horatio looked into her warm, compassionate brown eyes. For a moment, he just wanted to reach out and bury his head against her shoulder. It had always been thus: Alexx seemed to have always understood him. She touched a place deep within him that few knew existed.

"Alexx... I have a problem."

"Okay, sugar... what can I do?" She tilted her head, watching her friend, trying to figure out what was wrong. As soon as she'd gotten his call, she'd dropped everything... just like the old days, when she'd been the ME on so many of his cases. Alexx had always loved the red-headed man - ever since he showed up in her morgue, on his first assignment in Miami, well over a decade ago. He was strong and good. Not a puppet of politics. More than that, she easily read him; there was something in the man's bearing that touched Alexx, made her look beneath the steely surface he showed to others.

"It's Valera, Alexx..." Horatio suddenly stopped, unable to go on. Noticing his colleague's difficulty, Frank took over.

"Alexx... it's like this..." And so he began, filling Alexx in on all the details.

* * *

When Frank had finished, Alexx sighed. "Oh dear God." She looked at Horatio, who looked downward, reluctant to meet her eyes.

"Sugar?" she asked, alarmed by Horatio's silence. "You okay?"

He shook his head. "No, Alexx... I don't think I am. But I will be." He took a deep breath. "Tell me, Alexx... tell me about multiple personalities."

Alexx looked at him, amazement in her eyes. "Multiple personalities? You think that this is Valera's problem, Horatio?"

"I don't know," he said, irritated, running his hands through his hair. "What do you think?"

Again, she sighed. "Horatio, sweetheart, dissociative identity disorder is very rare... other, more terrible disorders often mimic it." She paused, considering. "It is true that it is often associated with severe trauma during childhood, usually sexual and physical abuse. In such case, a child will attempt to cope with abuse by withdrawing from the event, and allowing another 'personality' or consciousness to deal with the pain. If the traumatic event occurs often enough, the child will withdraw and the dominant consciousness will emerge and absorb the pain."

Horatio nodded, his thoughts rapidly following Alexx's words.

"But, Horatio... based on what you've described, this doesn't seem a real case of DID."

"Then what, Alexx? Are you saying Maxine is a sociopath? I'll never believe that, Alexx!"

A knock sounded on the door. Natalia entered the room. "I have the results of the background check... and the information from the riding stable. Seems the person working at Quinn's called herself 'Melanie Valera.'

"Which is creepy to say the least," finished Nat.

Horatio frowned. "Why do you say that, Natalia?"

Natalia pursed her lips, and raised her brows. _How to say this?_ she wondered. "Well, according to public record, it seems that Melanie Valera died in a car accident... two months after the last victim was found murdered in Mobile, Alabama."

* * *

Calleigh continued to watch Valera. Maxine still seemed focused on her work, intently running her analyses of various crime scenes. Calleigh checked her text messages from Horatio. Nothing.

Small, passing frissons of hope continued to surface in Calleigh's brain. _Perhaps they are wrong. It's easy to make a mistake... perhaps the evidence will end up pointing to another perp._ If so, Calleigh knew Horatio would find the truth.

She was about to turn her attention once again to the material in front of her... but as she started to do so, she saw the woman across the hallway begin to move axiously about the lab room, fixing her gaze on something in a corner.

* * *

Maxine looked up from the evidence on the Langston case. It had not escaped her attention that Calleigh was across the hallway, and Maxine began to wonder what was up. _Why was Calleigh using the evidence room across the hall?_ Others had been known to do so before, but never Calleigh. She mentally shrugged and began again to sift through the data on Mrs. Langston. As she began to type notes into her laptop, she was interrupted by a cold voice from across the room.

"Come on, Maxi, you know why she's here. She's watching you."

Maxine looked up suddenly. Across the room, standing in a corner, stood Melanie, a look of frustration on her face. "Don't be dense, Maxi! She's obviously figured out something isn't right."

"Melanie! What are you doing here? You're not supposed to be here!" Maxine looked in Calleigh's direction, but the ballistics expert was studying notes in a file, apparently unaware of Maxine's visitor.

"Oh, stop worrying. She can't see me. She doesn't see a thing. But you better open your eyes - and be quick about it."

"What are you talking about?" asked Maxine, keeping an eye on Calleigh across the hallway, and only partially attending Melanie's remarks.

Melanie walked toward Maxine and stared hard at her. "What am I talking about? _What am I talking about?_ Haven't you noticed she's been watching you the last two hours? She is on to us!"

"You're crazy," said Maxine. "You need to leave - before she sees you."

"No, what I need is for you to stop playing ostrich and get your damned head out of the sand! The evidence... the evidence from last night! You were supposed to get it before the lab could process it. Remember?"

Maxine looked at her, puzzled. _Evidence? What evidence? What was Melanie talking about?_

The other girl looked at her in disappointment. "I depended on you... for once, it's me who needs help. I need you to be strong this time... to take the risks. I might have known you'd let me down... let me bear the responsibility. Always... it was always this way... even when we were kids. Oh, Maxi, when are you going to get some backbone? This time, I need _you_!"

The familiar throbbing again started in Maxine's head. "What do you mean?"

Melanie sighed in exasperation. "What I mean is the evidence. You need to get to the evidence before that Russell woman processes it. If they have anything from the hotel, you know they'll tie me to the murders. You know that, Maxine. We talked about it this morning! You were going to fix everything... remember? Remember, Maxine?"

And suddenly, Maxine did. She remembered her sister's soiled clothing, which they'd hastily shoved into the clothes hamper. She remembered the plans they made for Maxine to seize the evidence from the lab. She remembered Melanie pleading with her - pleading that Maxine protect her. After all, hadn't Melanie always protected _her_? And, in the end, she remembered how exhausted she'd been when Melanie finally left... so exhausted that she'd fallen asleep... and forgotten the whole horrible affair.

_Forgotten or blocked?_

She swiftly sat down, afraid she'd fall down if she remained standing. Slowly she raised her eyes to those of Melanie. The girl nodded at her. "You know what you have to do, Maxi, right?"

Maxine nodded. "Get the evidence before... before they tie it to you."

"To _us_," said Melanie.

"To us," agreed Maxine, slowly. She looked across the hall, and noticed Calleigh watching her intently, a puzzled expression on her face. With alarm, she watched Calleigh close the file and stand up. The blond pulled out her cell, and made a call.

"She's coming, you know... to see you. She knows. She's a threat," said Melanie. "We have to stop her... you know that, right?"

Maxine looked at Melanie sharply. "What do you mean? How do you suggest I stop her?"

Melanie pointed to the microscope on the table. "That could stop her."

Aghast, Maxine stared at her. "Are you mad? I can't hurt Calleigh! She's my friend."

Melanie smiled. "No, she's not. She's just someone you work with... and, now, someone who is a threat... to you. _To me._"

"Stop it! I won't listen to you... I won't listen to any of this. Go away... let me think!" Maxine placed her hands over her ears, and began to sway back and forth. "For the love of God, please leave! Leave!

"I'll never leave you, Maxi. I love you... that's why I protected you all those times when we were kids. And you love me. You know you do. I need you to protect me, Maxi... this time, I need you. Protect me, Maxi... please... what I did, I did for us. You know that. _For us, Maxi_... for you and me... protect me... protect me..."

"Maxine?" Calleigh stood in the doorway, her pretty face fraught with concern. "Is there something wrong?"

TBC


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty-four - Not In Kansas Anymore

Pausing momentarily in the doorway of Valera's work station, Calleigh observed her colleague closely. The young woman appeared agitated, glancing repeatedly toward an empty corner of the room. _What is she looking at?_ wondered Calleigh.

Not five minutes ago, Maxine had seemed intent on her work, quietly analyzing an evidence smear under her microscope. But now... now she seemed antsy and anxious. The abrupt change in mood disquieted Calleigh. _Why does she keep looking over there? Almost as though she expects someone to show up..._

Experiencing a moment of self-doubt, Calleigh suddenly wished she'd alerted Horatio that something seemed amiss. But no, casting caution aside, she had allowed her own emotions and disbelief about Maxine's possible guilt to sway her. She still found it difficult to reconcile the DNA evidence against Maxine with the person whom she'd worked side by side with for several years. Standing in the doorway, she wondered if she was putting both herself and Maxine in jeopardy. The look on Maxine's face when she caught sight of Calleigh was disturbing, chilling - a marriage of fear and cunning.

Reading the unease in Calleigh's face, Maxine quickly rearranged her features and her own face assumed a pleasant expression. "Hi Cal, what's up?"

Taking a deep breath, Calleigh brushed aside her momentary qualms. _Am I becoming hysterical? Imagining things?_ she wondered. Whatever she thought she'd seen in Maxine's face a moment ago was gone, and her co-worker's countenance was now open and friendly. Paler than she should be, and her eyes red-rimmed and tired... but basically, Calleigh was looking at the same woman she'd been team members with for several years now.

_Damn it!_ thought Calleigh, irritated with herself. _This is crazy. Now I'm starting to imagine things. This is Maxine. I know her. And despite the DNA report, I know she's not a killer! There's been a mistake made somewhere - and Horatio will find it._

Determined, she walked into Maxine's lab room, and stopped in front of her lab table. "Maxine, is something wrong?"

"No - everything's okay. Busy, but okay. Why are you here?" Maxine asked, her voice friendly. Her face assumed a puzzled look. "Is there something you needed from me?"

Trying not to be obvious, Maxine sneaked a quick glance toward the corner of the room. _Thank God! Melanie's gone!_ Relieved, her eyes glowed queerly.

She turned to face Calleigh. Smiling brightly, she repeated, "Something you need?"

"No, no... it's just... you seemed... anxious about something. Uneasy. Is something wrong, Maxine? You know... you can tell me, if there is. I'd like to help..."

Maxine tilted her head, studying the woman in front of her. "Nothing's wrong. I'm just trying to get this analysis finished... I'm sort of behind... having missed so much time. It stresses me out. So much to do. I don't know how I'm going to get it all done..."

Calleigh looked at her, considering. "Well, you don't have to get it all done at once, Maxine."

"Come on, Calleigh - you and I both know the pressure to get the analyses conducted quickly, efficiently. No sooner is one analysis completed, and a request for five more shows up on my table. I feel like I'm drowning..."

Calleigh nodded. She did understand. It was true their caseloads had ratcheted up lately, and the DNA analysts bore much of the brunt of the work increase.

"Tell you what... why don't I speak with Bobbi Russell and see if she can continue to lend an extra hand for a bit longer... she knows you've been feeling unwell lately. I'm sure she'll help you get up to speed. How does that sound?"

"That would be wonderful. I hate to impose, but if she could just help out until I can get things settled... she's done so much already, I know." Maxine tried to sound calm in spite of the rapid thoughts going through her brain, but it was hard. This might give her the opportunity she needed to look about Bobbi's work station... and see if she had any evidence of Melanie's encounter with the man she'd been with the night before... the man whose blood was on the stained garment in the clothes hamper in Maxine's home.

"Don't worry about it, okay? We'll make it up to Bobbi." Calleigh continued to observe Maxine, looking for some clue, some hint, to the crazy situation in which they all found themselves... but things seemed okay. _Surely the DNA report was compromised somehow. It couldn't have been Maxine responsible for those murders!_

"Thanks, Calleigh," said Maxine eagerly. "Why don't I go see Bobbi now, explain how things are?"

"No, let me do it. It would be better coming from me."

Maxine thought of the evidence linking Melanie to Eastman, evidence probably sitting even now with Bobbi, and she suddenly, desperately, wanted to visit the other analyst. Maxine frowned at Calleigh. "Really? Do you think so? Why don't you let me approach her first? After all, it's my fault she is about to be burdened with more work..."

"It's okay, Maxine. We'll work it out. I'll handle it."

"_But it's better that it come from me._ I want to take care of it. I... I need to apologize... explain. Let me do it." Maxine was looking at Calleigh intently... willing her to step aside. "I _want_ to do it," she repeated, almost sullenly.

The sense that something was not quite right made Calleigh pause. _This isn't like Maxine... why is she questioning my decisions? Why is she so eager to talk with Bobbi? Why so adamant?_

With dismay, she saw that Maxine had dropped the pleasant demeanor she'd earlier assumed and now was veering toward petulance. The abrupt change in manner confused Calleigh. A reference from an old movie suddenly popped into her head; grimly she thought, _We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto._

Puzzled, she watched as Maxine started fidgeting. The pale woman began gnawing on the outside corner of an already damaged cuticle, frowning all the while.

Feeling she was entering uncharted territory, Calleigh repeated with soft force, "It's better coming from me, Maxine. I'm the person Bobbi reports to... let's say no more about it. I'll handle it. _And that's that_."

_**Don't you see? She'll never let you get to Bobbi - you'll never get a chance to get that evidence... not while she's standing there. She's in our way, Maxi. She's an obstacle. We have to move her. You can't allow her to stand in our way.**_

The words startled Maxine, and she looked quickly at Calleigh, wondering if she, too, had heard the urgent voice. But no... Calleigh was looking at her, a sort of confused pity on her face. And... kindness. She saw kindness in Calleigh's eyes, and it threatened to disarm her. Kindness was the one weapon Maxine had no defense against. A feeling of shame washed over her.

Experiencing a brief lucid moment, free of delusion, she felt a compelling need to make Calleigh leave the room. She knew something bad would happen if Calleigh stayed. Something _very_ bad. Leaning forward, she whispered urgently, "You have to leave, Calleigh. I can't protect you if you stay."

Puzzled, the blond looked at her. "Protect me? From what?"

"Don't waste time asking questions. Please! Just go. _Now!_ Before it's too late!"

Calleigh quizzically regarded her colleague. She was about to protest when she saw Maxine's brow wrinkle suddenly. Maxine raised a shaking hand to her forehead.

It was back. The pain. The pain was back.

It had returned swiftly and with a vengeance. That too familiar pain that never seemed to leave her for too long a period. How sudden its approach and how blinding its intensity. And growing worse. Each time the pain visited, it became more invasive, more aggressive, snaking its way through the cells and matter that made up her mind. She could feel it even now, coiling itself about her brain like some demonic alien creature... squeezing, squeezing... squeezing.

She struggled to think through the pain, understanding that with each visit it was devouring more and more of who she was - of who she used to be. It seemed to Maxine that the pain was everything. It was her constant companion. It was who she was.

Calleigh watched Maxine press the shaking hand to her forehead; she was surprised by the girl's fingers. Her cuticles had been mangled and they sported bits of dried blood. Fiercely, Maxine kneaded the skin near her temple. Concerned at the distress on Valera's face, she quickly walked around to Valera's side of the table. "Maxine, is it the headaches? Do you need to sit down? You're so pale... why don't you sit for a minute?"

Any disquiet Calleigh previously felt evaporated as she took in Valera's tortured expression. "Sit still... let me get you some help... some medical attention. Those terrible headaches... Maxine, something's not right. Something has to be wrong if you're in this much pain."

A confused look appeared on Valera's face. "Calleigh... Calleigh! Sometimes the pain - it's so bad. It's so bad that I can't stand it... and all I want is relief. I'd do anything to get it... a little relief from the pain..."

"Have you seen anyone about this?"

"No... I thought it was just the old headaches... I used to always have headaches... I figured they'd come back." She closed her eyes tightly, trying to will the torment away. "But they've gotten so bad. They've never been this bad in the past... so relentless. Dear God! It just hurts so bad, Calleigh! If I don't get some relief, I don't think I can stand it!"

"Okay, okay," soothed Calleigh. "You need some help. Let me get you some medical assistance, okay? Maybe we can get some medication to alleviate the pain." Calleigh looked deeply into Valera's red-tinged eyes. Ringed in dark circles, the pain-filled eyes stood out starkly against the white skin. "Let me help, Maxine... okay?" she asked softly.

Valera nodded,_ I'm so tired,_ she thought. Exhausted. Defeated. She wanted to let Calleigh handle things... just let her take care of everything. God! She was so tired of thinking... plotting... worrying. She wanted to forget... Just let Calleigh handle it... help her... help her get some relief...

**_You're forgetting something, aren't you?_** asked the voice from the corner. _**You know you can't just give up and let Calleigh handle it! Why do you always let others handle your problems? Take on your responsibilities? You're so good at that... letting others handle unpleasant things for you... then you get to go on your merry way. Forgetting... forgetting the people who took care of you!**_

_**Don't you get it? She knows! She knows what happened. You can't trust her. You know that deep down. Isn't that right, Maxine? Deep down, you know. I'm the only person you can trust, Maxi... I've always been here for you. Not this Calleigh person... she'll hurt us. Watch and see! She will. She will!**_

The strident tone of Melanie's voice vibrated with menace, and it jangled discordantly against the sensitive wires that held Maxine's fragile sense of self together. _STOP! STOP! PLEASE... JUST STOP!_ she silently implored her twin.

_**See what she's doing?**_ doggedly continued the harsh, childish voice, unwilling to be silenced. _**Look, Maxi! Open your eyes and look! She's calling someone... someone who will hurt us. She's going to hurt us!**_

Until now, Maxine's tumultuous thoughts had drowned out Calleigh's soothing words, and she hadn't focused on what the kind woman was saying. Confused, she watched as Calleigh pulled her cell phone from her pocket.

"Look, let me just give Horatio a call and tell him you're not feeling well... that we need to get you some assistance. Okay? It's going to be okay, Maxine. You'll see... everything is going to be fine... just relax." Without comprehension, Maxine stood there, mesmerized, while Calleigh turned and began to punch the code assigned to Horatio's number.

_**You better stop her! You better stop her right now. Maxi! Maxine! Don't you see what's she's doing? YOU HAVE TO STOP HER!**_

Unable to bear the panicked voice any longer, Maxine quickly turned her heard toward the corner of the room. She was there! Melanie was there! Yet... she wasn't. The image of her adult sister was gone, and in her place was a phantom from Maxine's past.

With a sob in her throat, she saw her sister standing there - ten years old, wearing a frilly pink dress, and little snow-white bobby socks with lace at the tops. Her little patent leather Mary Janes shined brightly, their glossy black surface reflecting back the lace on the fancy little socks. Maxine began to cry as she saw the desperate tears rolling down the little girl's face.

_**Please, Maxi... you must stop her. They'll take me away! You don't want that, do you? You have to protect me... we look out for each other. I looked out for you... please, Maxi, please! Look out for me. All we have is each other! Those men... they would have hurt you, Maxi. I made sure they didn't. NOW YOU HAVE TO PROTECT ME! DON'T LET HER HURT ME!**_

Fiercely, Maxine tore her gaze from Melanie and looked at the woman speaking into the phone. _What is she doing? Who is she calling? Have to stop her... have to..._

Calleigh, not heeding the sudden change in Maxine's bearing, spoke softly into the phone. "Horatio, I need - "

Abruptly, the phone went flying and crashed into the side wall of the lab. Landing with a muffled thump against the industrial grade carpet, it lay there, its cover cracked. Calleigh stood dumbly for a moment, surprised and unsure of what had just occurred. Dimly, she understood that Maxine had knocked the phone out of her hand and sent it sailing across the room. _But why? Why?_ Her attention quickly centered on the voice of her lieutenant, summoning urgently from the damaged phone.

"Calleigh? Calleigh! Talk to me, Calleigh!"

Calleigh was about to respond when she felt something heavy, hard, metallic land with swift and brutal force against the sensitive portion of her lower back; the savage and unexpected suddenness of the attack sent her tumbling face-forward into the carpet.

She lay there dazed and uncomprehending. She felt waves of crashing pain swell and peak, only to slightly recede and then begin again the same torturous journey. Centered in the small of her back, the agony was so intense that she found herself unable to speak - or answer the entreaties coming from the phone that lay a short distance away.

She tried to move, but was unable to do so. _What has she done to my back?_ she wondered, unable to turn her head even slightly. Instead, she continued to lay there, her cheek pressed uncomfortably against the sturdy, scratchy carpet. One eye was visible, and it looked up at Maxine, who stood there, silently, watching her.

Maxine took a deep breath. Ah. Relief. The relief that comes from taking action. _Blessed relief!_

With a quiet horror, Calleigh listened to Horatio's voice, repeatedly calling her name. Helplessly, she watched as Maxine set a small, sturdy microscope back onto the lab table.

Maxine then walked over to the cell phone, listening impassively to Horatio's persistent pleas that Calleigh answer. A strange look passed briefly over the woman's face as she held the phone in her hands before disconnectng the call. "Sorry, boss," she muttered, almost regretfully, into the silenced device, "Calleigh can't come to the phone right now."

That done, she slowly approached Calleigh. What she saw made her sigh deeply. She knelt by the prostrate figure and gazed at her with a look of apologetic detachment. "I'm sorry, Calleigh... does it hurt very much?" The mute figure on the floor looked at her, unable to respond.

Sadly, Maxine shook her head. "I told you to go, you know. Why didn't you listen? I had to do it. Had to stop you. I had no choice... I did it for her."

Feeling a bit of dampness, Maxine raised a trembling hand toward the outer corner of her eye. When it came away moist, she gazed at her hand with unwelcome surprise. _A tear?_ She hadn't realized that she'd begun to cry... she didn't think she had any tears left inside her. Wiping away the unwanted intruder, Maxine pointed toward the corner of the room and repeated, "You see, I did it for her... I did it for her."

Calleigh's eye tried to follow the direction of Maxine's hand, and what she saw filled her with dread.

Because what Calleigh saw... was nothing.

* * *

Horatio heard the loud twerp of his phone, signaling an incoming call. Turning his attention from his colleagues, he reached for the phone. Recognizing Calleigh's number, he quickly answered. "Calleigh? What's up?"

He heard Calleigh begin. "Horatio, I need - "

Just that suddenly, Horatio heard a loud smack, as if something solid had made contact with the phone... and then a duller thump.

"Calleigh? Talk to me. Calleigh? What's going on?"

Brief seconds passed, and then Horatio realized the call had been disconnected.

With alarm, he glanced at Frank and Natalia. "Calleigh's in trouble... something's not right."

As soon as the words were spoken, Frank and Natalia were heading toward an elevator. Horatio paused at the door and turned back to look at Alexx, his eyes urgent, beseeching. "Alexx, I can't ask you to come with us... but your assistance, it might be needed..."

Decisively, Alexx nodded. "Say no more. She's my friend, too, Horatio," said Alexx.

Horatio swallowed. He found himself unable to speak for a moment. Alexx took his arm, and the two old friends rushed toward the elevator, both worried about Calleigh - and fearful of what they might find.

* * *

With agonizing effort, Calleigh managed to turn onto her back, grunting painfully as she did so. She'd felt vulnerable laying there, unable to face her assailant. Now that she could see Maxine, her heart beat fearfully. She saw that Maxine was watching her efforts dispassionately - as if Calleigh was an injured insect that had made a precarious landing and was struggling to right istelf.

Suspecting that Horatio had heard enough to be concerned and was on his way, Calleigh endeavored to center her thoughts and ignore the pain radiating from her lower back down through her legs. She realized her best hope for surviving her foolish encounter with this new, strange Maxine lay in engaging her in conversation. "Maxine, what did you do to me?" she gasped, her voice hoarse with pain. "Why?"

"I'm sorry," said Maxine. She reached a hand toward Calleigh's pale blond hair, meaning to smooth the long silky strands back from her face. Calleigh tried to shrink from the strange woman's touch, but found she was unable to move without the pain worsening. "There, there, Calleigh," continued Maxine, her voice odd. "It had to be done. Don't you see? You called Horatio. I couldn't let you do that. I just couldn't. I tried to make you leave, you know. You should have left, Calleigh!"

**_Come on, Maxi. We have to go. NOW._**

Maxine glanced again toward the corner. Her sister stood there, shaking her head in irritation. **_We need to leave before Horatio gets here. It's too late to worry now about getting the evidence. It's too late for us... we have to leave now. They know. They know._**

"I don't know... can we just leave her here like this?" asked Maxine aloud.

Biting back the pain, Calleigh focused her attention on Maxine's words. "Who are you speaking to?"

Leaning down close to Calleigh's ear, she whispered, "My sister... don't you see her? Can't you hear her?"

Calleigh's spirits plummeted. There was no one in the room with them. _Dear God, please let Horatio be on his way!_

"Maxine," she said softly, "tell me about your sister... is she watchting us?"

"Oh yes," whispered Maxine. "She's always watching. And she's angry. Very angry."

Suddenly a familiar voice was heard coming from the doorway. "Ms. Valera, please turn around... slowly..." Horatio stood just inside the room, gun raised, Natalia and Frank paired on either side of him.

A sense of euphoric relief flooded Calleigh's senses at the sound of Horatio's voice. _Thank God! Thank God!_ Mutely, the injured woman watched as events began to unfold.

Turning around slowly, Valera stared at Horatio. "Are you going to shoot me, boss?" she asked softly.

"I hope not," was the grim reply.

TBC


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-five - Little Girl Lost

"You're not going to shoot me, boss... are you?" Maxine asked softly, looking at Horatio with confusion.

"I hope not," he replied, his expression grim.

On either side of him, Frank and Natalia held tightly to their weapons, waiting to follow Horatio's lead.

Valera was kneeling next to Calleigh, gently supporting her neck, as if to offer comfort. Horatio considered his next move.

At the moment, she didn't appear to be a threat. Instead, she seemed slightly disoriented and sad. Horatio looked at her closely; he didn't see a weapon. Yet Calleigh lay there, unmoving, obviously wounded in some way.

And afraid. He could see it in her eyes. He could feel it. The fear was a palpable thing, radiating outward from his second-in-command. That disturbed him more than anything; Calleigh Duquesne wasn't a fearful woman.

Hoping to reason with Maxine, he cautiously began to lower his gun and move toward her. That was when he heard Calleigh's frightened gasp.

"Horatio, no!" she managed, her voice weak from pain. "She... she has a needle... near the back of my neck."

As if hitting an invisible force field, Horatio abruptly stopped. His eyes focused sharply on Maxine's hand, buried beneath Calleigh's thick blond hair. It appeared as though Maxine was supporting the back of Calleigh's neck. What on first glance seemed a soothing gesture suddenly appeared to be something more... something deadly... and he read the anxiety in Calleigh's eyes.

He looked closely at Maxine, who was staring back at him, her expression dazed. "Are you going to shoot me, Horatio?" she repeated.

"Ms. Valera... what do you have... in your hand?"

Maxine's brows drew together. _In my hand? Oh yes... my hand... the drug..._ She'd forgotten she was holding the hypodermic needle. She pulled her hand slightly from Calleigh's hair... just far enough so that Horatio could see the needle.

"Maxine," he said very softly, "what are you doing, sweetheart? Think... think for a moment... what are you doing?"

"I... I was going to help her... sleep... so that we could get away."

Confused, Horatio tilted his head. "'We'? Who is 'we'?"

**_Don't let him confuse you, Maxi,_** said the voice from the corner of the room. **_He's smart. Tricky. You need to watch out for him._**

An odd expression appeared on Maxine's face and she seemed to be listening to something.

_What? What is she listening to?_ thought Horatio uneasily. Her eyes were bright with a freakish comprehension, the confusion of just moments ago seemingly chased away. The smile she now offered Horatio was cunning and strange. This was not the Maxine he knew.

Raising an eyebrow toward him, she said slyly, "You can't fool me, boss. You already know... I know that you do."

_Easy, Horatio... easy,_ he thought to himself. _She's on the brink. Talk her down... slowly... gently._ "Know what, Maxine? What do you think I know?"

Continuing to smile, she began chanting in a sing-song voice. _"You know, you know, you know... can't fool me, can't fool me, can't fool me."_

The peculiar, childish lilt alarmed Horatio. _What the hell?_ He could see he was getting nowhere. At that moment, Maxine was too caught up in some juvenile delusion to listen to him. He glanced briefly at Calleigh and saw her close her eyes. Worried about her level of pain, he tried to regain Maxine's attention.

"Okay," he said abruptly, "change in subject: what's in the needle, Maxine? Is it Suxamenthonium?"

Maxine stopped singing and frowned. His question displeased her. "How do you know about _that?_"

"Shit," softly muttered Frank under his breath. "Horatio, we have to get that needle away from her..."

Alexx, standing behind Frank, was listening to the exchange. "Frank," she whispered with alarm, "if that's what's in that needle, we can't let her inject it into Calleigh... that's some bad stuff. It has to be used in careful dosages... too much of it could quickly kill her. It would shut down her ability to breathe."

Frank nodded. "Horatio understands that, Alexx. We've seen this stuff before."

Natalia turned to take a quick look behind her and saw that people were beginning to gather in the hallway. Her voice low and calm, she firmly addressed them. "You all need to move back from here, okay? We need some space, and we need to calm this woman down before she does something irrational. We don't want her distracted by your presence. You need to vacate the area. Now."

Oblivious to the gawkers who were slowly leaving the area, Maxine continued to focus her queer, bright eyes on Horatio. _How does he know about the drug?_ she wondered. _They'd been so careful. Hadn't they? Eastman! It had to be Eastman... They must have found the needle last night. So soon? That fast?_

_**Watch out for him, Maxine. Don't let him fool you - he's clever.**_

"Maxine," continued Horatio carefully, "why don't you put that needle on the floor, move it away from you and Calleigh. You don't want to hurt Calleigh... I know you don't... she's a friend. If you hurt her, I won't be able to help you, Maxine... Come on, Maxine... put the needle down... slowly..."

"Can't do that, boss," she replied. "As long as I have the needle, you're not going to take any chances. She's safe. You can't hurt her."

"'Her?' Who? Are you talking about Calleigh?"

Maxine sat there, refusing to speak, glaring at Horatio.

He tried again. "Talk to me, Maxine... is it Calleigh you're referring to?"

"No, of course it's not Calleigh! Don't play dumb with me, Horatio. I'm not stupid," she said scornfully. "You know I'm not talking about Calleigh."

_**He's trying to trick you up, Maxi. Watch out for him. He's awfully tricky. Once you put that needle down, he's going to grab you... grab me! He's going to take us away, and he'll separate us. I know he will!**_

"Then who? Maxine, who are you talking about?" asked Horatio, his eyes intent.

Watching her closely, he noticed that she often seemed to pause, listening for something... _to_ something.

_How much time do I have?_ he wondered. _Can I keep her from shoving that needle into Calleigh's neck... could I get a shot off before she does? If she gets that drug into Calleigh, can Alexx do something... is there an antidote?_ In lightning time, dozens of possible scenarios raced through Horatio's brain, while he continued to coolly press Maxine for answers. "Tell me, Maxine, who are you talking about?"

"I'm not going to tell you," said Maxine slyly. "That's for me to know." She moved her hand slightly closer to the back of Calleigh's neck, lightly brushing the tip of the needle against her skin, causing the blond to shudder.

Taking a deep breath, Horatio stepped closer.

"Get back!" cried Maxine. "Don't come any closer. I mean it! And you put that gun DOWN. Now. I MEAN IT! I'll stick this into her... I will! I really will!"

Frank kept his eyes focused on the vulnerable Calleigh, ready to get a shot off if Maxine made good on her threats. He listened as several feet behind him, Alexx spoke softly into her phone. "We're going to need a couple of ambulances... we have one officer injured; we have a woman exhibiting signs of psychosis. We need all the information you can gather on the drug Suxamenthonium - and be quick about it. We have an emergency situation. I repeat, we have an emergency situation."

Frank's eyes moved from Calleigh to Horatio. He saw that Horatio was studying Maxine, looking for an opportunity to get her to move away from Calleigh. Frank tightened his grip on his service weapon.

Horatio was worried about that needle, but he didn't want to shoot Maxine if he could avoid it - not even a flesh wound. Didn't want to - but he would if she hurt Calleigh. His eyes flickered toward Calleigh, whose own pain-glazed eyes had reopened. _She seems calm; afraid, but holding on. Hold on, Calleigh,_ he willed. _Hold on!_

Knowing Frank and Natalia were armed and standing just inside the door, he decided to take a chance.

"Okay, Maxine," he said soothingly, "let's all calm down. Let's take it nice and easy. I'm putting the gun down. See?" Slowly, never taking his eyes from the disturbed young woman, he knelt down and placed the gun on the floor. He moved it about a foot from where he knelt. "There. Better?"

_**Don't trust him, Maxine... he's tricking you!**_

Horatio slowly got to his feet. Maxine watched him, her eyes bright. Horatio could see she was evaluating him, trying to figure out what he was up to. Calmly he held both hands out, palms up, and shrugged his shoulders, tilting his head to one side. A slight smile appeared on his face. "See? No gun. No weapon... of any kind."

Maxine paused. A glimmer of lucid thought flashed briefly in her troubled eyes; Horatio noticed and pressed his advantage. Moving slightly forward, he urged softly, "Let me come a little closer, Maxine. I just want to talk to you... make sure Calleigh is okay. That's all. I just want to talk. Okay?"

_**Maxine! Maxine, don't listen to him. He's tricking you... just like all the rest. He's just like all the rest, Maxine. He'll hurt us... Maxine! Are you listening to me?**_

Maxine turned swiftly to the corner of the room. "BE QUIET! Be quiet for a minute! I can't think... I need to think..."

Horatio had observed Maxine's head turning quickly toward the corner of the room. _She's talking to someone... someone she thinks is in the corner._ He approached a few steps closer, and Maxine swiftly turned back to face him, her eyes worried.

Horatio heard a deep intake of breath from Calleigh, "No, Horatio... no..."

"You should listen to her, boss," Maxine said.

"Why? I'm no threat... You know that, Maxine. How many times have you and I talked together? Hmm? Look, I'm just going to come a few steps closer... sit down here, across from you. See? I can't hurt you... I just want to find out what's going on..."

She watched him edge closer and then kneel down on one knee. She knew she shouldn't let him come any closer... Melanie was right: he _was_ tricky. But... but it was Horatio. _Horatio..._

_He was her boss. Her friend? Yes... her friend. What was she doing? How had things come to this?_

She glanced down at Calleigh who was looking toward Horatio. She could feel the rigid fear in the blond's neck. _It would be so easy to prick her... let the serum pump into her system. Would Horatio even notice?_ Her hand was covered by lots of soft blond hair... _She could do it! She knew she could._

_But... did she really want to hurt Calleigh? Why did she want to hurt her?_

And then, suddenly, she found it difficult to think at all... the pain was back.

Yes, back again, trying to distract her. Wrenching, blinding waves of it.

For a moment, she'd clearly understood it was Horatio trying to reason with her... and her friend, Calleigh, laying there, frightened of her. But now... now it was the damned pain, back again, commanding her attention. _The pain and... Melanie._ Why wouldn't they both just leave her alone! She thought of the needle she was holding... perhaps she should just use it on herself and be done with everything!

It was tempting. Very tempting...

She was so damned tired.

**_You think you're the only one tired? What about me? What about me, Maxine? It's your turn now... your turn to protect me._**

She had trouble concentrating on Melanie's words - they were being interrupted by Horatio. He was saying something... _what?_ Yes, saying something and staring intently at her, his blue eyes filled with concern. Was he faking it? Did he care about her at all?

"Maxine, who were you speaking to just a minute ago? Is there someone here with us?"

"Tell him, Maxine," whispered Calleigh. "You told me... now tell Horatio. He can help you... let him help you. Let him help you _both._"

Maxine frowned. _As if anyone could help her... help Melanie... They were doomed._ She could see that now. _What difference does anything make at this point?_ She glanced over toward the corner. Melanie was still there, watching her, afraid.

"Tell him, Maxine," repeated Calleigh, finding it difficult to hold onto consciousness. The pain in her back was terrible. She wondered briefly if she was experiencing any internal bleeding. "Please..."

"Maxine, sweetheart..." said Horatio softly, "talk to me... who is here? Who is in that corner? Come on, Maxine, focus... focus... Let's take care of business, okay?"

_Take care of business?_ An odd look appeared on Maxine's face. _Take care of business?_

Confused, she looked at Horatio. "Why did you say that?"

"What?"

"'Take care of business' - why did you say that? _He_ always said that." She suddenly grimaced, pain causing her features to wrinkle up.

"You okay, Maxine? You look like you're in pain. You know what? Alexx is here with me... would you like to talk with Alexx?"

"Alexx?" She looked past Horatio and saw Alexx standing near Natalia and Frank, a worried look on her face.

"If you want to talk to Alexx, I can ask her to come in here... but you have to put the needle down first. I can't let Alexx in here while you have the needle."

Suddenly Maxine leaned in toward Horatio. "_He_ always said that... he said we needed to take care of business first... and afterward... _after he took care of his business_, then it was time for ice cream. He always took us for ice cream afterward..." Her choked words trailed off.

Her face contorted with anger. "I hate ice cream!" she said vehemently. "It makes me think of... it makes me remember... nasty! Nasty!"

Swiftly, Maxine looked again toward the corner. _Empty! Where was Melanie? Where did she go?_

Turning her attention back to Horatio, her eyes widened in surprise.

Sitting next to the lieutenant and quietly concentrating on a game of ball and jacks was ten-year old Melanie. Humming a familiar tune softly under her breath, she repeatedly bounced the little ball, picking up handfuls of jacks.

Maxine quickly looked at Horatio, but he seemed unaware of Melanie's presence.

"Melanie?" she asked aloud.

Abruptly, Melanie raised her head and looked Maxine in the eye. Angry tears gathered in the little girl's eyes and she began to sing: _**You scream... I scream... we all scream for ice cream.**_

_"You scream... I scream... we all scream for ice cream."_ The old song floated eerily from Maxine's lips, causing Horatio to blink in nasty surprise as he stared at the disturbed woman across from him. Maxine was crying and crooning the old song...

The hair on the back of his neck stood up and he had to fight to suppress the shudder that ran through him. With startling clarity, Horatio suddenly remembered the visit with Rhea Brody. He remembered how she had started to sway back and forth, her face full of misery, while under the influence of a dark and frightening vision...

* * *

_Her throat moved convulsively and Rhea's shoulders tensed. "He finish up his business... take them girls out for ice cream. Ice cream! Big man in town, important, respected. People see him out and about on Sundays with those little ones... they think to themselves, 'Ain't he nice? He gonna be such a good papa to those little girls whose own papa died. He such a fine man... such a good catch for their mama!'"_

_Rhea sat up straight, her voice cold. "You scream... I scream... we all scream for ice cream... "_

_Abruptly, the sorrow disappeared from Rhea's face and a hardness stole over her features. Her voice began to take on the high, petulant tones of an embittered child, an angry child. "You scream... I scream... we all scream for ice cream! Gonna pay! Nasty man! Dirty... dirty! He's gonna pay... you hear me, Maxi? You hear me? I ain't never gonna forget what he done. You'll see! You'll see!"_

_Horatio and Frank glanced at each other. The change in Rhea's voice had been so quick, so unexpected... so eerie._

_"Mr. Brody," began Horatio softly, "is she alright?"_

_Jamison waved them silent, and addressed Rhea. "Baby, who's 'Maxi'? What you seein' now?"_

_A cunning look appeared on Rhea's face and it chilled Horatio to see her features suddenly assume a childish cast. She smiled and opened her eyes, but didn't seem to see the gentlemen sitting before her._

_"'Who be Maxi?' Ain't tellin' you!" she said slyly. "That be our secret... her and me. Just be us against the world. Can't trust nobody else. Gonna be justice, though, I can tell you that! They all gonna pay. Maxi think she can forget. She can't forget; she foolin' herself."_

_Rhea's features spasmed once again. "Hurts... my head hurts so bad. My head ain't ever hurt like this before... two sides of the same coin... death and justice... one and the same... two sides of the same coin. Hurts bad... bad._

_"Made us dirty, he did. Nobody cared. All those times... his nasty ol cigarette breath... heavy breathin' on me. Makin' me feel like I could choke! Not lettin' me move... holdin' me in place. I couldn't move! And no one cared!"_

_Harsh, childish laughter suddenly erupted from Rhea and her amber eyes glowed strangely. "Yeah... but somebody gonna care now. There's gonna be justice for Papa... and all them papas... I know what they like... gonna give it to 'em... and more. More. Gonna give 'em more than they bargained for!"_

* * *

He forced the memory from his mind, and focused again on Maxine. "Maxine... did that man who took you for ice cream... did he hurt you?"

"Not me," she said brokenly. "Her." She pointed toward her sister, who was looking at her. Like Maxine, Melanie's face awash in tears.

_**He hurt me, Maxi. You remember. He hurt me bad... but I looked out for you, didn't I?**_

Silently, Maxine nodded, crying softly.

Horatio saw that Maxine was pointing to the spot next to him. Again he suppressed the urge to shudder. "Is she here with us, Maxine? Is your sister here?"

Maxine nodded, unable to speak.

"Is it Melanie?"

Another nod.

"Is she speaking to you? What is she saying, sweetheart?"

Maxine's face crumbled with misery. "She's so scared. She's afraid. She thinks you're going to hurt us."

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said swiftly. "Not you... not Melanie. Look at me, Maxine... do you believe me? I give you my word. Tell Melanie, okay? Tell her she can trust me, that you're safe... both of you. Tell her... tell her that I promise."

Again Maxine nodded. "I'll tell her..."

"Maxine... did Melanie try to hurt Eastman?"

"He... he was a bad man. Like Papa... He had to pay." Maxine looked confused. "But he was _tricky_... she couldn't make him pay..."

Horatio bit his lip before continuing. "But she made others pay, didn't she? Here... in Miami?"

"They were bad men, Horatio. They had to pay... like Papa. Don't you see, Horatio? They were bad men... the kind of men who hurt little girls... they had to be stopped."

Maxine looked at Melanie. She saw the girl had again started playing with her jacks. "Look at me, Melanie... I'm so sorry," she began, brokenly. "I'm sorry for all those times you... you had to... I'm sorry I kept quiet. I'm sorry I left you. But I couldn't stand it, those memories of those times in the car, the screaming... the helplessness."

Melanie lay the jacks aside and met her sister's gaze. _**I love you, Maxi. I was never going to let him hurt you. And those men... I wasn't going to let them hurt you... or me.**_

_**I'm brave... you were always so scared. I knew I could make Papa pay one day. All the 'papas.' Everybody pays, Maxi... eventually. But it hurt me when you left me and mama... why did you leave me, Maxi? I needed you, but you left...**_

"I know," said Maxine, crying. "I was wrong. I tried to make it up to you... to pay you back for all the times you... you looked out for me. I wanted to protect _you_ this time... I'm sorry I let you down. Again."

Horatio felt his heart grip painfully as he witnessed Maxine's one-sided conversation with a phantom sister. It was terrible to see the tears leaking from her red-rimmed eyes. There was such misery in her voice. Such suffering! How did this happen? How did they miss so many clues to her unhappiness, her break with reality? Was she really so adept at hiding all this misery... or were her friends too self-involved to see it?

_**I know you tried, Maxine.**_ A sad smile appeared on Melanie's face. _**But it's never really been in you... that's why I had to take care of you. I always knew it wasn't in you. So I always took control. I love you, Max. Always will... Don't let them take you away from me, Max... not now... not now that we're together again. Please, Maxi... please...**_

"Maxine," said Horatio, calling the woman's attention to himself. "What is Melanie saying to you?"

"She doesn't want you to take me away... she needs me, Horatio. This time, she needs _me_. I can't fail her again. I need to take care of her. She's so afraid you'll take me away from her. She's not bad, Horatio... she just wanted what you've always wanted: justice. Just a little justice, Horatio.

"Please don't take me away from her..."

Horatio took a deep breath. "Okay, sweetheart... it's okay. Tell you what... this is what I need you to do... to keep you and Melanie safe, okay? I need you to trust me... I need you to give me the needle. Can you do that, Maxine? Can you trust me, sweetheart? You know you don't want to hurt Calleigh... Trust me... just a little..."

_**NO! No, no, no!**_ cried Melanie, frantically.

"It's okay, Melanie," said Maxine, aloud. Soothingly. "Everything's okay... I think we can trust him. He won't take me away from you. We'll be together... forever. You and me."

_**Are you sure? He's tricky! Are you sure?**_

"Promise me," said Maxine, looking into Horatio's eyes, "promise me that Melanie and me - we'll be together... you won't split us up. She needs me, Horatio."

Horatio swallowed painfully and nodded. "I promise. You can take Melanie with you... okay? Now hand me the needle, Maxine... nice and slow... that's it... nice and slow..."

Maxine extricated her hand from beneath Calleigh's hair and lay the needle on the floor between she and Horatio. "You promised! Don't forget your promise."

"I won't forget, sweetheart." Slowly he reached for and grasped the needle.

Frank and Natalia lowered their weapons. In the background, Alexx was giving directions to the EMTs who had arrived on the scene.

Horatio's sad eyes watched Maxine, but her attention was fixed elsewhere... at something he couldn't see.

Maxine smiled sadly at her sister. "We're done now, Melanie. It's over. No where to go... no where to hide. But we got justice. We made them pay. And now... now it's time to go. But... at least we'll be together... right? Always. Horatio promised. He never breaks his promises. But it's over now. It's finished business."

Melanie nodded. _**Finished business.**_

In Maxine's head continued a sad lament. _You scream... I scream... we all scream for ice cream..._

_Would it ever be finished... really?_ thought Maxine as Horatio drew her to her feet and handed her over to the waiting EMTs.

As they helped her onto the stretcher, her eyes glanced over toward Melanie, standing near Horatio. Her sister had stopped crying, but she looked sad. The EMTs placed Maxine inside the waiting ambulance, and she silently watched as Melanie climbed in and sat next to the police officer who accompanied them.

Maxine felt the quick prick from the injection the EMT gave her and soon she felt very sleepy. Drifting toward unconsciousness, her eyes looked once again into those of Melanie's.

_Everything was okay. They would be together. Now. Always. They were family._

* * *

A different ambulance with different passengers hit yet another pothole in the road it was traveling. Calleigh groaned at the jarring impact. Bright fireworks of pain danced across her vision, and she grasped Horatio's hand tightly in order to keep from crying.

"Hey," said Horatio angrily to the driver upfront, "you want to take it easy? She has a back injury and she's feeling every damned hole in this road."

"Sorry, sir," said the young driver. "I'll be more careful."

The EMT next to Horatio regarded him with resentment. _We're doing our job, buddy... back off._

Horatio watched as the EMT checked Calleigh's vitals and got an IV going.

"Does she really need that?" asked Horatio.

"Just a precaution... it's routine. We worry that there may be dehydration due to stress."

Horatio looked down at Calleigh, his brow worried. "Hey, beautiful... you okay?" he asked softly.

She smiled faintly. "I won't lie to you: I've been better."

He smiled and brushed a lock of hair from her eyes.

"Oh, Horatio," she said sadly, "what will happen to her?"

Horatio closed his eyes briefly, remembering the little-girl-lost look on Maxine's face as they carried her away on the stretcher. He opened his eyes and met those of Calleigh. "I don't know... at least not yet. There are still a lot of things we need to resolve... things we need to figure out. Alexx is with her now... that will help.

"Enough about Maxine... what about you? How is your back?"

"It hurts... bad. I... I hate to move. When I do, I feel like I'm going to lose consciousness. Horatio, I think she slammed the microscope into my back. One minute, everything was fine... the next... I was on the floor. Was I stupid? How did I let my guard down so?"

"Sshh... stop it. No second guessing, okay? No one could have predicted this. Now, I want you to close your eyes and try to relax. We'll be at the hospital soon... get some tests done... get you fixed up. But you'll be fine. Understand? You'll be fine."

Horatio leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "You'll be fine," he repeated, and made himself believe it.

TBC


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-six - A Good Man

Horatio ran a hand through slightly mussed, coppery red hair. Shifting his weight in the uncomfortable chair, he stretched his long, slim legs, and crossed them at the ankles. A frustrated sigh escaped his lips as he wearily leaned his head back against the coolness of the hospital wall, closing his eyes briefly.

It felt as though he'd been sitting in this waiting room for hours. Sitting... staring at nothing... worrying... waiting for news. News about Calleigh... about Maxine. He was tired of sitting. Tired of worrying. _He wanted some answers, damn it!_

Slowly, his mind drifted over the events that had occurred earlier in the day. His first recollection was the horrific sight that had greeted him when he entered Maxine's lab - Calleigh, laying there on the floor, too much in pain to move, staring at him with a pleading look, as if begging him to be careful.

And then... then there was Maxine, kneeling beside Calleigh, by turns dazed and confrontational. He'd never forget watching Maxine hold a conversation with someone who wasn't there. The memory chilled him, causing the hair on his arms to rise up. He recalled how he kept trying to reason with her, trying to find a piece of the old Maxine still inside, and all the while his gut clenching with the very real fear that she'd inject Calleigh with the deadly drug she was holding close to the injured woman's neck.

_Maxine, Maxine... how did you get to this point?_ he wondered, not for the first time that day. _How could we have missed the signs?_

"Horatio?"

Opening his eyes, a welcomed sight greeted him. "Alexx," he acknowledged, rising quickly to his feet. "What's happening?"

"Maxine has been admitted to the Behavioral Health Unit; she's under observation at present. She's been lightly sedated; some tests are scheduled."

"Tests? What sort?"

"Brain scans. They want to rule out anything organic before pursuing psychological testing. It's a good idea, Horatio. It's odd that Maxine would suddenly start exhibiting such severe signs of psychosis... and - Good Lord! - murder? It doesn't make much sense."

"Alexx, if it isn't psychological, then what are we looking at?"

Alexx took a deep breath and looked away. "Let's not speculate at this point. Several things could be at the root of Maxine's problems. Let's wait and see what the tests show."

Horatio frowned. Alexx was being evasive. That wasn't like her. He didn't like it. Before he could press the matter, Alexx abruptly changed the subject.

"Horatio, I've made arrangements for a consult for Calleigh's case," she said, her eyes moving reluctantly past him as she noticed a figure striding confidently toward them.

"Calleigh's asked me to be her doctor, and I'm fine with that. Still, she needs to have someone involved in the case that is better versed in back injuries."

Horatio's own back was toward the approaching figure, and he didn't notice him at first. "That's fine, Alexx."

"I'm glad you feel that way." Reaching past her friend, she put out her hand and smiled at the man coming to a stop behind Horatio. "Finn - thanks for coming on such short notice; I know you have a lot on your plate with trying to get settled at PCFM."

Surprised, Horatio turned and saw Finn Harper take Alexx's hand in his. "Dr. Harper..." he said slowly, somewhat disconcerted by the doctor's unexpected appearance, "so we meet again... and twice in one day. I wasn't aware that your area of expertise was back injuries."

"Dr. Harper used to head up the Orthopedic Unit of Mercy before deciding to offer his services to PCFM, Horatio," replied Alexx. "The hospital hated to lose him - but it was quite a coup for PCFM. Finn still has consulting privileges at the hospital. We're very lucky he's available to consult on Calleigh's case."

Finn Harper smiled faintly. "Yes, Dr. Woods requested that I consult." He looked at Horatio appraisingly. "I understand the patient is one of your officers - a young police woman, very active in the field. Is that correct?"

"That's right, Doctor," replied Horatio. He looked at the man standing before him and felt mild stirrings of dislike. Harper was an attractive man, even imposing; but there was an attitude of arrogance that annoyed Horatio. He reminded Horatio of someone... _who was it? Capable, smooth... condescending. Trouble with a capital **T**._

"Do you know if she's ever experienced any back trauma in the past?"

"Not to my knowledge."

Harper nodded, thinking. "That's a big plus." He turned to Alexx. "Let's go see the patient. I'll want those tests scheduled immediately. The sooner the problem is diagnosed, the better the chance of treating it effectively."

"Horatio," said Alexx, "why don't you go on home. I'll call you as soon as we know something."

"Thank you, but no... I think I'll stay awhile, Alexx. Are you taking her down for tests shortly?"

"Yes..."

"Okay, then... I'll just wait."

Harper raised a brow. "You realize we probably won't know anything substantive for several hours? There's really nothing you can do here."

Horatio lowered his head, tilting it slightly to the right. Steely eyes under heavy, reddish brows rose to meet those of Harper. "I'll stay, just the same," he said curtly. "Ms. Duquesne is a member of my team, Doctor, and she was hurt on the job. More than that, she's my friend."

Frowning, Harper drew himself up to his full six foot four inches and glared at Horatio. He was not used to having his directives questioned and he didn't like it. For a second or two, he and Horatio engaged in a silent battle of wills, each staring at the other. Finally, Harper shrugged and turned away.

"Suit yourself, Lieutenant - just don't make yourself a nuisance with the staff. When we have news, you'll know - and not before - so I'll thank you not to badger them with questions. Come, Alexx - let's go see the patient."

"I'll be with you shortly, Finn."

Again the doctor shrugged, then left them.

Alexx looked at Horatio, her smile gentle. "Look, sugar, if you're determined to stay, I'll try to get some news to you as soon as possible."

"I'll want to see her, Alexx, when the tests are completed."

"I can make that happen." She hesitated for a moment. "Horatio... Finn Harper - he's one of the best in his field. I thought Calleigh deserved that."

"She does, Alexx," he agreed, his eyes careful.

"What he lacks in bedside manner, he makes up for in expertise. He's very capable, and is respected up and down the East Coast - the go-to guy for back trauma. He'll evaluate Calleigh's injuries and develop a plan of treatment for her that we can have confidence in - one that will get her back in the field. Hopefully." She sighed. "Back injuries are tough, Horatio. They require careful, expert evaluation and well considered treatment. He may seem harsh, but he's a good man."

Horatio said nothing, continuing to look at Alexx.

"You don't much like him, do you?" she asked softly.

"I don't _know_ him, Alexx," he said lightly. "A little too soon to judge, wouldn't you say?"

She leaned close and whispered, "I can read you, Lieutenant. And that's a mighty wintry look I see in those blue eyes right now..."

"Yes, well, you'll see 'summer' there if he can help Calleigh."

Satisfied, Alexx stepped back and grinned. "Okay. Fair enough. Why don't you get a bite to eat? It's likely to be awhile before we know anything."

He nodded.

Alexx started to walk away, but was stopped by Horatio's voice. "Alexx."

She turned back. "Yes?"

"If Harper is the best in his field, known up and down the East Coast for his expertise, don't you wonder why he gave it all up to work for PCFM?"

Alexx hesitated, wondering how much to say. In the end, she decided to say nothing.  
"Like all of us, sugar, I suppose he has his reasons. It's his business; let's let it stay that way. Right now, it's Calleigh we're focused on, right?"

_Calleigh. Yes._

After Alexx left, it occurred to Horatio who it was that Finn Harper reminded him of, and the thought brought a sour look to his face

_Stetler._

* * *

Happy and humming some nonsensical tune, Lauren balanced a large paper bag of groceries in her arms. With her backside, she pushed her car door closed and then headed up the walkway to Horatio's door. Shifting the groceries, she knocked twice against the door, thinking Horatio would answer. When he didn't, she set the groceries down and pulled out of her purse the key he'd given her months ago.

"Hello?" she called, walking through the foyer, the living room, and into the kitchen.

_That's odd,_ she thought, setting the groceries on the counter. She glanced at her watch. _Almost seven-thirty... I thought he'd be home by now..._ She frowned. _At least Kyle should be home. Did he go out?_

She walked back into the living room and glimpsed the young man through the French doors that led to the outside deck. He was sitting in a lounge chair, the wire from his earbuds dangling from his ears to his iPod. His head was nodding to a beat only he could hear, and he was reading a booklet whose title was not visible to Lauren.

_Well... this is awkward,_ she thought. Taking a deep breath, she ventured out onto the deck and stood in front of Horatio's son, waiting for him to look up. When he did, she smiled and waved hello.

Seeing Lauren, Kyle sat up quickly and yanked the earbuds out. "Lauren! Hey, I'm sorry!" He grinned sheepishly. "I was listening to some music... didn't hear you come out here."

She matched his grin. "Yeah, I sorta figured that out."

"Didn't you get Dad's message?"

"Message?" Lauren's face clouded with confusion. "No... what message?"

"That's funny... he said he was going to call you. Something unexpected, apparently serious, happened at the lab this afternoon. He didn't go into it. Just said that he was going to be a lot later than originally planned. He said he was going to call you and tell you that it probably wasn't worth it for you to come by tonight..." Kyle's words trailed off as he watched the happiness fade from Lauren's face.

"Uh... he didn't call you? Maybe you didn't hear the phone. It's unlike Dad not to do something he said he was going to do..."

"Maybe he did leave me a message; I might not have heard the phone buzz." Lauren walked back into the house and headed to the kitchen for her purse. Opening it up and fishing about for the phone, she quickly realized there was no way she could have gotten Horatio's message; she'd left her phone back at the condo.

_Just great!_ she thought forlornly. She'd been looking forward to spending the evening with Horatio and Kyle. _He probably tried to reach me while I was out shopping for dinner. Well... what now?_ She looked dismally at the bag of groceries.

A moment later, she looked up to see Kyle entering the kitchen, leaning on his crutches, and still clutching in one hand the booklet he'd been reading.

"I see you planned to cook for us this evening, huh?"

She smiled sadly. "Yes... I guess I did have it in mind. Oh well... you know what they say, 'the best laid plans...'"

"What were you going to make?"

"Nothing fancy... just some Italian food. Your dad's too skinny for my liking lately."

He saw disappointment in her face and he suddenly felt bad for her. "Well... you could cook for me, you know... Dad keeps telling me I need to put on a little weight. Italian's good for that, isn't it?"

Lauren looked at the young man. It occurred to her that he had sensed her dejection and was being kind to her. A sweet smile stole across her face at the realization. Lauren liked kindness; she valued the quality highly... and Kyle's unexpected sensitivity reminded her of his father. _The apple doesn't fall far from the tree,_ she thought approvingly.

Maybe cooking the young man a meal while waiting for Horatio wasn't such a bad idea... Horatio wanted her to get to know Kyle. It was part of the reasoning behind Lauren's spending more time at the house... getting more comfortable with Kyle... having him become more comfortable with her.

She made up her mind.

"In this bag, _signore_, I have all sorts of wonderful things - fresh vegetables, crusty Italian bread, some pasta, a bottle of wine and - ta dah! - several cannoli... and chocolate sauce to go with them. Tell you what, I'm going to make you some of my famous _Pasta al Lauren._"

"Famous, huh?"

She grinned. "Well, at least with your dad. It's one of his favorites."

The young man sat down at the kitchen table, resting his crutches against the kitchen counter behind him. He placed the booklet he'd been holding facedown on the table. "So, what's in this famous dish?"

"Sshh," she whispered, placing her index finger against her lips as she theatrically looked behind her to make sure no one else was listening. "I don't share this with just anyone... but the secret ingredient to _Pasta al Lauren_ is... RAGU spaghetti sauce."

"RAGU? The stuff in a jar?" He looked at her doubtfully.

"Yep. To it, I add some chopped vegetables, a little wine, garlic, onion... some sweet Italian sausage. My little secret - I think your dad is under the impression I make my own sauce."

"Kind of devious of you, isn't it?" He grinned. "But your secret's safe with me."

Reaching into the bag, Lauren pulled out a bottle of wine. "Chianti... you can't cook Italian without a little vino, right? How about you? You want a soda or something while you're helping with the cooking?"

"Am I helping?"

"You don't think I'm going to do all this work myself, do you? You can chop up some onion and garlic."

"Okay... but my idea of cooking is opening a pouch and sticking something into boiling water."

"Then it's about time we expand your horizons a little," she said, reaching into an upper cabinet for a wine glass.

Kyle frowned. "You want to grab two of those, Lauren?"

She hesitated, the memory of Horatio's concerns about Kyle's drinking suddenly surfacing. Kyle noticed her hesitation.

"Lauren? Is something wrong?"

She looked at him uncomfortably, not knowing what to say. _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ she bit her lip, chagrinned at her thoughtlessness. _How could I have been so stupid?_ But she knew why... she was nervous being around Kyle without Horatio... and anxious to make a good impression. _So much for that now!_

Tilting his head to the side, he asked, "Is it the wine? Are you afraid to offer me a glass? I'll be honest with you... I, uh... I haven't been drinking lately. My father... he's uncomfortable with it."

Lauren sat down across from him. "What about you? Are you uncomfortable with it?"

He leaned back in his chair, looking at her. "You get right to the point, don't you? Are you asking me if I think I have a problem?"

"Do you?"

He sighed. "No... at least not the way Dad thinks." He pulled an onion out of the bag and handed it to Lauren. "Here... you want to wash this? Then I'll cut it up for you..." He watched her rise and rinse the onion and a few other vegetables in the kitchen sink. After finishing up, she walked back over to the table and handed the food to him, along with a knife.

"Kyle, you don't have to talk about this with me. I was wrong to ask you about it. It's a subject for you and Horatio... not my business at all," said Lauren, hoping she hadn't alienated him.

Kyle nodded and said nothing for a moment.

"You see," he said, starting again, "I was drinking pretty heavily... it... it helped me get through the day... sometimes through the night. I, um... well, I'd have these dreams... or get these... sudden flashes... feel like I was back in Afghanistan... feel my leg crushed under part of a truck... I'd smell the gasoline again... see my friend... injured..."

Again he stopped speaking, unable to go on. Lauren didn't know what to say. Her eyes gentle, she smiled sadly. "That's a pretty terrible thing to experience, Kyle... to remember. It must be terribly upsetting."

He looked away from the sympathetic gray eyes. "Yeah... anyway, the alcohol calmed me down. For awhile, I made pretty liberal use of it."

"And now?" she asked softly.

"Now I'm learning there are other ways to manage the anxiety. Dad probably told you I'm seeing somebody. I think he's going to be able to help me. Hope so, anyway. He put me on some anti-anxiety medication... it takes the edge off things when the... the memories get too real." He smiled gently at her. "Regarding the wine... it's okay, Lauren... you can pour me a glass of wine; I'm not an alcoholic, and I'm not about to go on a bender."

She thought about it briefly, decided he was right, and poured them each a glass. She watched Horatio's son frown in concentration as he began chopping up the small onion, his brows meeting in a sharp 'V' at the bridge of his nose. His long slender fingers made her think of Horatio.

She'd only been in Kyle's company a few times since he'd been back home with Horatio, and those times had been tense. Kyle had been pleasant to her, but had drifted into a morose silence after a while, making his excuses and heading to his room for the rest of the evening. Tonight, somehow, he seemed easier... less depressed. Even teasing her in a lighthearted manner that reminded her a bit of his father.

She began sautéing the garlic and onion Kyle had chopped up. Suddenly, she felt happier - even hopeful; maybe things were on the upswing with Kyle. For his sake and for Horatio's, she fervently hoped so. Nothing would relieve her troubled lover more than to have his son slowly regain his life.

She heard a cell phone begin to buzz insistently. She turned to see Kyle pull the buzzing phone out of his pocket. He looked at the number of the incoming call and smiled. "It's Dad," he said, looking at her.

"Hey, Dad... what's going on? When are you coming home? ...You've... you've got some company here... sure, hold on."

He handed the phone over to Lauren. "He wants to speak with you."

* * *

"Hey, sweetheart, I've been trying to reach you," said Horatio, staring at the uneaten, now-cold hamburger sitting like a lump on the plate in front of him. He wasn't sure whether it was the cafeteria food or his worry about Calleigh and Maxine that made the burger look so unappetizing... but he ended up pushing the plate away. "I've left you several messages..."

The voice on the other end made him smile. "I know, I know... don't get angry, Horatio, but I did a stupid thing... I left my cell at home. It's probably on my bureau in the bedroom. I hate when that happens..."

"So do I," he replied evenly.

They'd had the discussion before. One time she'd left her phone at the office, and he'd tried repeatedly that particular night to call her. When he couldn't reach her, he'd been worried - and not in the best of moods when she finally contacted him to tell him what had happened. Not wishing to scold her for the repeat performance, he changed the subject. "Lauren, something happened today at the lab, and now I'm at the hospital -"

"At the hospital! Horatio! Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

He heard the alarm in her voice and quickly sought to calm her. "I'm fine, I'm fine. It's not me. But I am going to be here for some time... that's why I tried to reach you. I feel terrible that you're there alone... I hadn't anticipated being so late when I asked you to come over this evening..."

"I'm not alone... I'm with Kyle."

"And how is that going?"

"Splendidly. I'm making him dinner. When you finally get home, you can have something warm to eat. Can you tell me why you're at the hospital?"

He hesitated. "I'd rather not go into it over the phone, okay? I'll tell you later tonight. Will you still stay?"

"I will. I'll be waiting for you."

He smiled again. It would be nice to go home and have someone waiting for him. He had the feeling he was going to need that tonight. "Thank you," he said softly.

He looked up to see Frank Tripp standing in front of his table. "Sweetheart, I have to go... I'll see you later."

He terminated the call and looked up at the man standing before him. "Francis? You want to grab a cup of coffee?"

Frank nodded and sank into the chair across from him. "In a few minutes. Although after what happened at the lab... and what we found at Maxine's house... I could use something a little stronger."

Horatio compressed his lips into a thin white line. He knew this wasn't going to be good news. "Okay, Frank... tell me what you found."

Exhaling heavily, Frank shook his head. "We tore the place apart, Horatio. You ever been to Maxine's place?"

Horatio shook his head.

"Pristine. I mean, absolutely pristine. And cold. Place felt like a meat locker. We walk in there and it was like entering a laboratory: everything white, neat, almost sterile. No dust, dirt, nothing out of place. No knickknacks, no photos sitting out on side tables or shelves. Nothing.

"So Natalia and me, we go into her bedroom. Maxine kept this little box - Nat called it a 'memory box' - filled with photos and memorabilia. Natalia had seen it when she took Maxine home that time she was feeling sick. Anyway, we found the box sitting on a shelf inside the closet. You should see the closet, Horatio - neat, orderly. Nothing like my closet."

"Did you see any photos of Maxine's sister?"

"Yeah, several... there was one of both of them when they were small - they were with that guy I guess she was referring to..."

"The family friend who used to take them for ice cream..."

"Yeah, I think so."

"Anything else?"

Frank rubbed the back of his neck and painfully rolled his stiff shoulders. The tension of the day was starting to get to him. "Found a few photos of the twin as an adult... and some news-clippings. The twin looked just like Maxine... hard to tell them apart."

"What were the news-clippings about?"

"They were from a local paper in Mobile... about the murders that had occurred there. There was also an obit notice."

Horatio said nothing. He thought he knew what was in the notice. Still, Frank hammered the point home.

"The obit was for a Melanie Valera... died three years ago... car accident."

"Three years ago, Frank... just when the murders in Alabama stopped."

"You think Melanie was the killer?"

"That is exactly what I'm thinking."

"Well, here's something else for you to think about. It seems Melanie worked with a vet in Mobile... local guy who went to farms and stables to take care of the bigger animals... not frou-frou dogs for rich ladies."

"Which means Melanie would have had access to Suxamenthonium."

"Bingo."

The two men sat quietly. Frank looked at Horatio's uneaten hamburger. "Tasty, huh?"

"I have no idea... I never took a bite."

Frank nodded. "A couple of other things, Horatio," he continued. "Far in the back of Maxine's closet was a garment bag. We unzipped it."

"Let me guess... the costume that Eastman referred to... the dress, socks, the shoes?"

"Yep."

Horatio sighed. "Anything else?"

"Yeah... at the bottom of the bag was a small case... a few hypos and a few small bottles of some sort of liquid. Natalia took it back to the lab to be tested; I think it's pretty likely that it's Sux."

Horatio thought for a moment. "Well, Frank... Maxine was working at the stable where Lauren rides... I suppose she could have gotten access to the drug there... maybe from a vet who treats the animals. Somehow, that has to be the connection."

"I guess. One other thing - we found a sweatshirt in Maxine's hamper. Looks like the same one our girl was wearing in the surveillance shots. It had blood on it. That went back to the lab with Nat as well; probably a safe bet the blood is Eastman's."

Frank swore softly. "God damn, Horatio... Maxine! I still can't believe it. You think she knew she was doing this? And why now? You think it's possible she has a split personality? I'm finding that hard to swallow..."

_Harder to swallow than the idea Maxine might be a cold-blooded murderer?_ wondered Horatio. _Harder than that?_

* * *

_Several hours later..._

Lauren and Kyle sat in the living room, drinking coffee. Dinner had been a success: not only had it been good, it had broken down much of the restraint between the two.

"Dad's really late... it's ten-thirty. He missed a great meal. I can see why _Pasta al Lauren_ is a favorite."

"Oh, I can warm it up for him pretty quickly - that is, if I can cajole him to eat. When he's upset, he forgets to... he loses his appetite. I hope this isn't one of those times. He's lost enough weight, I think..."

Kyle looked at her. "You mean... because of worrying about me?"

Lauren sat up straight. "I'm sorry, Kyle! No, I didn't mean that, although I know he's concerned about you."

Kyle said nothing for a moment, recalling his father's care and attention during his recovery - and ever since.

"He has been worried about me. I know that." More softly he added, "And I'm sorry about it. I've never wanted to worry him. I've only wanted to... to make him proud. It was the whole point of my going into the Army..."

She smiled. "I don't think you needed to go into the Army to make him proud of you. He once told me a little about your past, and he said he was so proud of you - of the man you are becoming. He's very proud of you, Kyle - never doubt it. With or without the Army."

"I've put him through a lot over the past few months. I didn't mean to, but I have. The injury... the leg... it's kinda hard to get used to. It scares me." The eyes that looked into Lauren's were bright with vulnerability and something more... a need to confide in someone?

Taking a sip of her coffee, Lauren considered the young man before her. "You mentioned seeing a doctor earlier... how is that working out?"

"I've only seen him twice so far... but I have to admit, I do feel better after talking with him. He's got me coming twice a week... temporarily. I wasn't all that keen on the idea at first..."

"But now?"

"Now it seems okay. It's good to be able to say what's on my mind without worrying about hurting the feelings of others. We don't just talk about the war... he asks me a lot of questions about Mom... how I feel about her, if I blame her for not being around... for the craziness that often seems to surround her..."

Lauren said nothing, but her mind flashed back to a time a year ago when she'd been at Horatio's house and Julia had shown up. Julia had stopped taking her medication and had been in the middle of a manic phase, and Lauren had been alone with her. She recalled how frightening it had been to watch Julia pacing about the house, out of control. What must it have been like for Kyle, still a teenager, to have dealt with her?

"He also asks me about Dad," he continued, "and if I resent his not being there when I was a kid."

Kyle watched as Lauren's bearing suddenly stiffened. Her expression became closed, and her eyes, once so warm and friendly, became remote. _She thinks I'm blaming Dad - and she doesn't like it._

"Resent _him?_" Lauren frowned. "The way I understand it, Kyle, your father wasn't aware of your existence... your mother never shared with him that she'd been pregnant. You can't possibly resent him for that," she said coolly.

Kyle suddenly smiled. Lauren's frostiness delighted him. _She really cares about him_, he thought.

"You get pretty defensive on his behalf, don't you? I can see it in your eyes. Right now, you'd like to belt me, wouldn't you?"

"Don't be silly," she said, taking another sip of her coffee.

"Yeah, you would. I can see it in your expression. You're pretty crazy about him, aren't you?

Lauren put the coffee cup down and looked into Kyle's eyes. "Your father," she said, her voice serious, "is a good man. He beats himself up over the fact that he wasn't there for you. If you should resent anyone, perhaps it should be your mother, who kept the truth of your existence from him. Horatio would never say that to you - and I probably shouldn't either. But that's how I feel. Your father doesn't need to take on any additional guilt for something that was beyond his control.

"You're not the only one who lost out, Kyle; think of the years Horatio lost... years he can never get back. Years that could have been spent getting to know you, being a father to you, guiding you. The whole time you were in Afghanistan, he worried; and when you were missing and we didn't know what had happened to you, he was devastated. When you were injured, he put his life on hold... to stay with you in Washington. He would do anything for you. Anything!"

She took a deep breath, knowing she was treading on dangerous territory. It was not her place to chastise Horatio's son, but she couldn't help herself. She'd be damned if she was going to let anyone - including this boy - dump more guilt and suffering on that man.

"Lauren, Lauren... calm down." He held up a hand, smiling as he did so. "I know... I know. I don't resent Dad for not being there when I was a kid... but it is something the doc asks me about."

The two of them drifted into silence for several seconds. Finally, Kyle spoke again.

"I'd never hold it against Dad that he wasn't around back then. You know, Lauren... he's the only one in my life I've ever been able to depend upon... but there's no doubt in my mind that my life would have been different if he had been there when I was a kid. Maybe I wouldn't have done the stupid things I've done. I might have been more like him. Sometimes... sometimes I have trouble believing he's my father..."

Watching the young man tilt his head to the side and look at her with intense blue eyes, her heart melted. "You are definitely his son... don't doubt it."

"Oh, I don't... not biologically. But the truth is, I'm not much like him."

"How do you figure?"

"Things bother me... I try to hide from stuff, avoid things. And... well, I get scared. Sometimes..." he hesitated, wondering if he wanted to share with this woman who was still pretty much a stranger to him. But there was something warm and sympathetic about her. He sensed he could trust her.

"Sometimes," he continued, "I wake up in the middle of the night... crying out... images of the night of the accident in my head."

Disgusted with himself, he shook his head. "I'm disappointed in myself that I can't handle things better... like Dad does. If he were in my place, he wouldn't be waking up, crying out to ghosts."

Lauren bit her lip, and said nothing. The memory of Horatio crying out in the darkness to his own ghosts while she held him in her arms was fresh in her mind. So, too, was the anger and disgust he'd felt when she had shared that with him. It wasn't for her to tell Kyle that his father was not much different from him; no, it was up to Horatio to confide in his son.

But - she could do this for him...

She leaned forward and took the young man's hand. "Kyle, your father is not Superman. He has his issues to deal with - just like you. And he loves you. There is nothing you can do to deserve his love; it just is. You can tell him about your fears and worries; he's not so different."

She looked at him earnestly. "And you're not so different from him. I see a lot of your dad in you. You're a good man, Kyle - strong, kind. You're a good man like your father."

* * *

Slowly Calleigh opened her eyes.

"Welcome back, sleepy head," said Horatio, smiling at her. Sitting close to her bed, he held her hand in his.

"Horatio... I must have fallen asleep."

"You've had a pretty busy evening... a lot of tests."

Her face darkened as she recalled the events of the day. "What time is it? It must be late."

He looked at his watch. "It's about ten-thirty. How are you feeling? How is the pain?"

"It's not so bad now. Whatever they gave me is pretty good stuff." She smiled. "Want me to get you some?"

"I think I'll pass."

She sighed. "I wonder how long it will be until Alexx has the test results." She licked her lips. "Horatio... I'm scared."

He leaned closer. "Of what, sweetheart?"

"What if... what if there's something seriously wrong with my back? What if I can't ever go back in the field again?"

He took the hand he was holding and brought it to his lips. "You're going to be fine. Okay? I don't want you to worry about this right now. Whatever happens, we'll deal with it. And, Calleigh... I'm going to be here with you, every step of the way, sweetheart."

Calleigh swallowed, her throat tight with unshed tears. "You're a good man, Horatio... I'm glad... I'm glad you're in my corner."

He kissed her hand again. "Always... always."

"Ahem." Finn Harper cleared his throat before entering the room with Alexx. "Excuse me."

He turned up the lights in the darkened hospital room. His expression impassive, he looked Calleigh in the eye. "I have the results of your tests. Ready to go over them?"

Harper's face showed nothing and Horatio's heart was in his throat... but then he looked at Alexx. She was beaming.

His heart eased a bit. Things were going to be okay.

_At least for Calleigh._

TBC


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty-seven - A Light at the End of the Tunnel

The door to Horatio's house opened slowly and the exhausted man walked quietly through the doorway, carefully closing and locking the door behind him. The house sat quietly in darkness, but from the kitchen a soft, muted light spilled out into the shadowy blackness. Wearily, he walked toward the light.

The kitchen was empty.

Crossing over to the refrigerator, he opened it, and spied the carefully wrapped remnants of the meal Lauren had prepared earlier. He reached for the nearby jug of orange juice and unscrewed the cap. He thought about reaching for a glass, but decided not to. _The hell with it._ He was too tired for niceties. He tilted the jug to his lips and took several deep draughts of the cool, sweet liquid.

Seconds passed and, satisfied, he placed the jug back inside the refrigerator and glanced at the clock above the stove. _Two-thirty a.m. Was it really that late?_

His eyes briefly surveyed the room, noting a booklet resting on the table. He turned it over, glancing at its title. Surprised, he wondered about its reader, but then his tired mind shut down. He was too weary to think logically. He shook his head and just stood there, irresolute, and feeling decidedly unsettled.

Finally, he again opened the refrigerator and pulled out some ham and cheese, and quickly made himself a sandwich. Not hungry but knowing he should eat something, he took a few bites without much enjoyment. He didn't bother to sit down at the table, but stood in front of the refrigerator, absent-mindedly gnawing on the sandwich. His mind was elsewhere. It kept drifting back to the last several hours he'd spent at the hospital.

He'd been relieved when Finn Harper's diagnosis confirmed that Calleigh's injuries were not life-altering. The forceful blow of the microscope against her lower back had resulted in a minor fracture to the spine. His anxiety diminished greatly when Harper explained that the fracture was a stable one and that surgery would not be necessary. Calleigh would be required to spend eight weeks, maybe twelve, in a back brace to prevent destabilization. Time would be her physician, allowing the fracture to slowly knit.

_Thank God._ He'd been so relieved at the news that it had been all he could do to keep from weeping... the result of a tumultuous day, no doubt. He had taken his friend's hand in his and gently kissed her forehead upon hearing the good news. He remembered looking up and catching an odd look on Finn Harper's face... a look that had disquieted him at the time.

After leaving Calleigh, Horatio made a quick visit to the hospital's Behavior Unit, where Maxine had been admitted earlier. He was hoping for some news on her condition, but the test results had not yet come back. Still, Alexx had made arrangements for him to look in on the troubled young woman, and he did so.

Recalling the dismal sight that had greeted him when he entered Maxine's room, Horatio put aside his half-eaten sandwich, leaned his forehead against the refrigerator door, and closed his eyes at the disturbing memory.

Maxine had been lightly sedated. Padded wrist restraints had been employed which limited her ability to sit up in the bed. As a consequence, she lay there, desultorily staring into space. But as Horatio entered the room, her eyes slightly focused and she turned her head in his direction. Softly she acknowledged his presence, "Hey, boss..."

"Hey, you," he whispered, a tiny smile flitting across his face. Observing the restraints, he frowned suddenly; he understood the need, but they bothered him. "How are you holding up?"

"We're fine," she said quietly, her eyes dulled by the sedation. "Just... tired. We're so tired."

Uneasily, Horatio followed the direction of her eyes; she was looking at something slightly to the right of where he was sitting. "Maxine... is _Melanie_ here? Um... did she... _did she come with you?"_

Her mind heavy and fogged by medication, she slowly nodded. "Mm hmm... always with me. Always... Thanks, Horatio..."

Horatio's eyes flashed with pain and his throat burned with unshed tears. _Maxine, Maxine... thanks for what? For missing the indications that you were troubled?_

Tenderly, he brushed some hair from her forehead. "For what, sweetheart? Thanks for what?"

"You didn't separate us... we were scared you would. Me... and Melanie... we were scared... we need each other. But we trusted you... always trust... you..." Unable to keep her eyes open, she drifted off.

Horatio found himself unable to continue looking into her pale, tired face - it was too hard. The wreckage he saw there hurt him too much. He lowered his head, and his lips compressed, staving off the almost imperceptible quiver in his chin. The day's sadness threatened to overwhelm him.

But only momentarily. He'd been through worse, he reminded himself. Determined, he pulled himself together and leaned in close to Maxine, whispering brokenly, "Okay... it's okay... try to sleep now. Just... sleep..."

He spent another fifteen minutes with her. The entire time his thoughts repetitiously traveled along the grooves that the day's events had worn into his tired brain: _What clues had he missed along the way? What signs had gone unobserved? Had he been too busy? Too self-involved with his own concerns? They were his team, damn it! His hand-picked team, his 'people' - his responsibility!_

With a heavy heart, he finally left the sleeping woman, unhappily aware that there was nothing further he could do for her.

Horatio opened his eyes and looked around his empty kitchen. _God! He felt so... old. Old and lonely. And sad._

He rubbed the heel of his hand across his tired eyes, and then tossed the remainder of the sandwich into the trash bin. Turning off the kitchen light, he headed toward the bedroom. His eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness of the moonlit room, and he made out the sleeping form of Lauren in his bed.

His heart lightened a bit: _Not lonely after all. Not tonight. A warm body to lay close to... one that would shelter him against the horrors of this awful day._

He walked softly into the bathroom and closed the door. Once inside, he turned on the light and regarded his bloodshot, puffy eyes. His haggard appearance confirmed the toll the day's events had taken. He looked every one of his fifty-six years, and the network of no longer fine lines about his eyes and mouth discouraged him. Depressed, he turned from the sight.

After relieving himself, he quietly washed his hands and splashed cool water on his face, and then quickly brushed his teeth. Too tired to do much more, he slipped out of his outer clothing. After a moment's hesitation, he stepped out of his boxers. He wanted no barriers; tonight, he wanted to rest flesh against flesh. He craved the feeling of a sympathetic body pressed close to his.

Turning off the light, he exited the bathroom and quietly slid into bed next to the sleeping woman, hoping not to wake her. The scent she always wore greeted him, and he moved closer to her soft warmth, drawing her body nearer to his.

Feeling his touch, Lauren awakened instantly. "Horatio?" she asked groggily, turning in his arms to face him. "Honey, what time is it?"

"About three," he replied, his voice sounding ragged even to him.

"I'd meant to wait up for you," she said, feeling guilty, "but it got so late... and I fell asleep. I'm sorry."

"No worries," he said softly, burying his face deep into the silky blond hair. He loved the scent and feel of it against his cheek. "I lost track of the time... I'm glad you went to bed."

"Were you at the hospital all this time?"

"Mm," he said absently, his eyes beginning to get heavy as the smooth warmth of her body soothed and welcomed him.

"But you weren't hurt - right?" She began to softly run her hands over his arms and chest as if to reassure herself.

"It wasn't me," he mumbled tiredly.

"Horatio?"

He sighed. "Lauren, sweetheart - I'm about dead. I can't talk about this right now, okay? I just want to try to get a few hours sleep... we'll talk tomorrow." He yawned and pulled closer to her. "Tomorrow," he repeated softly.

She felt him begin to lose himself in sleep. A small smile appeared on her face in the peaceful darkness. Grateful he was unharmed, she rained light, gentle kisses on his throat. He was home now... safe in her arms.

For now, for them both, that was enough.

* * *

Late the next morning, Kyle looked up to see his father entering the kitchen. "Hey, Dad... just getting ready to make some breakfast. Sit down... I'll pour you a cup of coffee."

Horatio's brows raised in disbelief as he sat down. "_You_ were about to make breakfast?"

"Yup." The young man looked down at a piece of paper laying on the counter near the stove. "Lauren left me a note before she went to work - gave me orders that I should make you some eggs... according to this note, you like '_Omelets a la Lauren_.'"

Horatio smiled. "Is that what you're making?"

Kyle frowned. "Well... I was about to... but, well... it's just egg whites and vegetables."

Horatio nodded. "Yes... that sounds about right."

"You really like that?"

"Lauren _thinks_ I do..."

"You know, last night she made something called '_Pasta a la Lauren_.'"

Horatio's tone was amused. "After a while, you'll find that she has a lot of recipes '_a la Lauren'_. They are basically simple meals into which she dumps vegetables."

"Oh... like the pasta."

"Mm... Ragu sauce with vegetables and Italian sausage, right?"

"You know about the sauce, huh?"

"I do... but let's don't tell her, okay? It's her way of making sure I eat healthier... but, tell you what: why don't we go out and get a real breakfast. You up for some steak and eggs?"

The boy hesitated for a moment, and Horatio read in his uncertainty the reluctance to face the world on crutches.

"Come on, son... it's a beautiful day. Let me buy you breakfast."

Kyle looked at his father and slowly nodded. Something in his father's eyes told the young man that Horatio needed something... something more than steak and eggs. A small smile braved its way across Kyle's face as he made up his mind.

"Okay... seeing as how you're buying..."

* * *

After breakfast, the two men sat side by side on a bench outside the ocean front diner, drinking their take-away coffee. The older man looked tired, as if operating on too few hours' sleep; the younger looked pensive, covertly watching passersby, trying to determine whether they were staring at him, perhaps peering furtively at his missing limb.

Horatio noticed.

"Kyle, stop that," he said calmly, taking a sip of his coffee.

Startled, Kyle looked at his father. "What do you mean? Stop what?"

"Stop checking everyone out to see if they're staring at you. It's what you're doing, isn't it?" he asked kindly, looking Kyle in the eye.

Kyle sighed heavily. "I guess," he replied, raising the coffee to his lips. Embarrassed that Horatio had noticed his apparent unease, he sat silently, gazing at the ocean.

"Son," began Horatio, "most people aren't looking at you. They are going about their own business, thinking their own thoughts, filled with their own worries and concerns. It's your own preoccupation that makes it seem otherwise."

Kyle nodded, saying nothing.

A few moments passed, and then Horatio remarked casually, "You know, I'm pretty damned proud of you."

Kyle turned his head swiftly toward Horatio. "Me? _You're proud of me?_"

"Mm hmm." Horatio took another swallow of his coffee. Leaning forward and resting his forearms on his knees, he cradled the cup in his hands as he studied a family down by the ocean's edge, the children frolicking in the gentle surf.

"This is the first time you've willingly gone outside the house for something that wasn't a doctor's appointment. I know it's hard for you. You think I don't know how vulnerable you feel, out in the public's view? You think everyone's staring at you... noticing that your leg is missing. It's a big step... coming out with me for breakfast. A brave thing to do."

Kyle laughed shakily. "I don't feel so brave. I feel like a kid who wants to hide away."

"You don't have to hide, Kyle."

"I don't want to be pitied, Dad... I want to be treated like everyone else."

Childish squeals of delight drifted up from the water's edge, and the sound elicited a gentle smile from Horatio as he continued to gaze in that direction.

"Well, the best way to have people treat you like everyone else is to _act_ like everyone else. That means you have to go out there everyday, son, and force people to look at you as the man you are... and the man you mean to be going forward. If you refuse to be defined by your disability, others won't be able to do so either. That's a tough thing to do when you're feeling self-conscious... frightened. But you have to do it. That's what bravery is - doing the thing you're most afraid of."

Kyle hesitated before replying. "I'm trying, Dad... I'm really trying."

Horatio turned his face toward Kyle and smiled. "I know. I know... and that's why I'm proud of you. I know you're frightened, but you're trying. And you'll succeed, Kyle. You've already come so far in your life."

"Thanks to you," said Kyle softly.

"Nope," said his father, continuing to smile. "Thanks to _you_. I opened a door to you - you made the decision to walk through it. You didn't have to, you know... you could have allowed the past hard knocks you've received to define who you are... could have used them as an excuse to rage against the world. Others have - and for far less reason.

"But not you. At a young age, you made the decision to turn your life around. You made the decision to go into the Army. And - ultimately - it was you who made the decision to see Dr. Shapiro and get the help you need. There are young men who've had an... easier youth... than you... and who didn't become the fine man you are becoming."

Horatio looked again toward the ocean and said softly, "I'm proud to be Kyle Harmon's father."

Kyle's eyes watered briefly but he managed to reply quietly, "Thanks, Dad..."

Trying for lightness, Horatio asked, "Now, why don't you tell me about that booklet I saw resting on the kitchen table last night, hmm?"

"Oh, that..." Embarrassed, the young man tried to sound nonchalant. "I, uh... I guess I haven't totally given up on the idea of maybe going to law school one day. I'd have to get my four-year degree out of the way first... but the University of Miami has a pretty good pre-law program. I have a couple of high school classes I could CLEP and probably get into college for the fall term. And I'd qualify for VA assistance.

"Anyway... just something I'm thinking about at the moment.. I'm not sure yet."

Horatio's heart lightened. "Sounds to me like you've done quite a bit of thinking about it. Well, I think it's a fine idea, and if you decide to pursue it, I'll help you in any way I can."

Kyle smiled. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, letting the sunlight warm his face. It was a nice morning; he listened in contented silence as gulls flew overhead, their wings creating the soft whipping sound of gentle thunder.

Horatio continued to drink his coffee. Some of the tension of the previous day was starting to leave him in spite of the busy day that faced him. He knew that he would find time to return to the hospital today, and that a visit from Internal Affairs was in his future and would have to be endured - there were some matters he'd be asked to account for in light of Maxine's identification as the Bobbysox Killer.

Still, things seemed... easier. Bearable. As if - finally - there was a light at the end of the tunnel.

_Yes, a light at the end of the tunnel._ Small - but assuredly there.

His boy was going to be all right. For the first time, he felt sure of it. In spite of Kyle's unease about dealing with his disability, he sensed his son was starting to come to terms with it.

Was he proud of him? Yes. Oh, yes.

Suddenly a terrified shriek from the water's edge caused both father and son to sit up in alarm. Rising quickly to his feet, Horatio looked down the beach; what he saw caused his lips to curve in tender amusement and, relieved, he sank slowly back down onto the bench.

A small, weeping girl had fallen into the surf in which she'd been playing. The unexpected immersion apparently frightened her, causing her to wail in terror. Her father briskly picked her up out of the water and held her close as he comfortingly swayed back and forth. Slowly, the sounds of the child's sobbing diminished.

"Poor kid," commented Kyle. "Know what that's like."

Tilting his head, Horatio looked at him quizzically. "Are you afraid of the water?"

"No... that's not what I meant." Kyle stopped speaking, gazing straight ahead.

Unsettled, Horatio continued to gaze at the boy's profile. "Tell me."

Kyle took a deep breath. "I meant... well, I meant that I know what it's like to be so scared that you end up crying out... wanting your father..."

Kyle swallowed hard and then went on. "I never told you... that night I was laying there under the wreckage of the truck, I kept calling your name. I... I was watching Tony waving his arms about, crying about his hands, and I - I was in so much pain. My leg - the pain was just excruciating, and I just needed something to hold on to - so I just kept calling out your name... I didn't think I was going to make it... I thought I was going to die with my leg pinned under that truck... and so I just kept crying out your name... Something inside me... it kept telling me that if I could just see you, everything would be okay..."

"Oh, Kyle," said Horatio, helplessly, "Son, I wish... I wish I could take that experience away from you."

Kyle nodded. "I sometimes have dreams about that night... and while I'm having them, I know they're just goddam dreams! I know it even while I'm dreaming! But they're so real. I feel like I'm right there again, laying beneath that truck... smelling the fuel, the blood, breathing in the dirt... hearing Tony screaming... and then I realize it's not Tony who's screaming...

"It's me, Dad... it's me! And it's your name I'm screaming..."

Hearing Kyle's words made Horatio feel as if his heart was in a vise, slowly being squeezed from all directions. _His poor boy! His good, strong boy!_

Struggling to get his breathing under control, Horatio replied, "Son, any time you call my name out, I'm here. Understand that - I'm here. For you. Any time of day... of night... always."

Again Kyle nodded. "I know that... I knew that when I opened my eyes in the hospital and saw you there... next to my bed. You've always been there for me."

"Not always," said Horatio regretfully.

"Always," his son affirmed. "Always. Ever since you knew about me... ever since."

Horatio found himself unable to speak.

"You said you were proud of me," continued Kyle, his voice earnest. "Well, you can't know how proud I am to be Horatio Caine's son."

"Kyle... you don't have to - "

His son interrupted. "I do. I do have to. I want to tell you. I _need_ to tell you, okay? You're the best thing that ever happened to me. I don't know what my life would be like without you. God knows it wasn't very good before I met you! I look at you, Dad, and I want to be like you. I want to be strong... brave... do the right thing, the necessary thing."

"Kyle, son, you don't know - "

Again Kyle interrupted him. "I _know_. I know that you're a good man. And I know that you never hesitate. You just do what has to be done. I want to be like that... like you. Not like some scared kid who cries out in the middle of the night because he sees ghosts."

_Ghosts._ Horatio shuddered inwardly. His thoughts drifted toward his own ghosts who often showed up in his dreams during dark, restless nights.

Kyle continued. "I aim to be the man you are. I want you to be as proud of me as your father must have been of you."

Startled by Kyle's remark, Horatio leaned forward again, tightly grasping the now cold coffee in his hands. A short, bitter laugh escaped him.

Puzzled, Kyle looked at him. "Dad?"

"Kyle, I've never told you about my father, have I?" asked Horatio softly.

"No... but I've always wondered..."

"Well, Kyle... my father... my father was a violent, cruel man who took out his disappointments in life on my mother, me and my brother." Horatio shook his head. "He was a son of a bitch. I hated his guts and wished him dead more times than I can tell you."

Shocked, Kyle looked at Horatio, uncertain what to say.

"He used my mother as a punching bag when things got to be too much for him. In the end, he killed her...

"And, then... I killed him," he added softly.

And so Horatio told Kyle the sordid, tragic tale of a lifetime ago, carefully watching his son as he told him the story.

He had hoped never to have to share his past with Kyle. He feared the boy's reaction to learning his father might not be the man he thought he was. Horatio was only human; maintaining his son's good opinion was important to him.

But he couldn't allow the young man to cling to some fantasy of who his father was. That would be selfish of him and of no benefit to Kyle. The admission of his past was his gift to Kyle - and for Horatio, an expensive one. But it was a price he was willing to pay to free the boy from the burden of hero worship. The sort of hero worship that might encumber his son with an improbable and mythic image to measure himself against... and, perhaps, always be found wanting.

Finally, Horatio concluded the grim story. He then reached into his pocket and pulled out his sunglasses and put them on. Just then, he didn't want anyone looking too closely into his eyes. He was afraid of what might be glimpsed there.

"Dad... what you went through... that's terrible..." Kyle's voice caught in his throat. He had no idea his father's young life had been so traumatic. Kyle had felt himself growing up a little bit during the recitation of those long-ago events - and loving his father even more for the man he now was. Unbidden, the thought came to him: _ If he could survive all that, then I can survive this..._

A new respect for his father gleamed in Kyle's eyes, and he listened closely as Horatio continued speaking.

"It's the past, Kyle. And I can't change what happened. I told you because I wanted you to know that you're not the only one who wakes in darkness... afraid of the ghosts who inhabit your dreams. I think there are more of us out there than you might imagine. We all have our ghosts - it's just a matter of degree.

"The thing, son... the thing is... you have to go on. In spite of it. Every day."

Quietly, Kyle regarded him for some minutes. For the first time, he was seeing his father as a man, a good man, and not a super hero. His father's past opened Kyle's eyes to the man's vulnerability, and so it was with real sympathy that he finally asked, "You see your dad... in your dreams?"

Horatio nodded. "I do."

"You must have hated him."

"I did. But it's a funny thing, Kyle. I loved him, too. There were times, oh yes... there were times, when he was the man he should have been. Those times were few and far between... but they did occur. But they never made up for his violence - or for what he did to my mother. But... he was my father. As much as I hated him, I guess I loved him, too. At least, a little. Damned crazy, isn't it?"

Gentle understanding glimmered in blue eyes so like Horatio's. "Maybe not... you know, it's sort of like my still loving Mom. She makes me crazy; kept us apart all those years; left me to fend for myself. She hurt me a lot. But... she's my mother. You know?"

Horatio smiled. "I know."

"So, tell me," asked Kyle shyly, "what's your method for dealing with nightmares? I could use some pointers."

Horatio raised his brows and shrugged, the slight smile still on his face. "My method? I don't really have one. For a long time, I tried to deny their existence. Lately, I talk to Lauren about it - she, ah, sort of badgers me into talking about my 'feelings'. Can't say I'm particularly crazy about that method of dealing with them, but it does seem to help. A little."

"Well, I don't have a Lauren to talk to..." said Kyle.

"Perhaps not yet. But you do have Dr. Shapiro.

"And... you also have me. Okay? If the dreams get too bad... if you feel afraid... it's not weak to reach out for understanding. Got that? Don't try to tough it out on your own. I tried to do that. Sometimes, Kyle, a man needs human contact... someone who will place a hand on his shoulder and say, 'It's going to be okay.' Promise me that you'll think about that. Promise me you'll let me be there when you need some reassurance."

Kyle reached his hand out and squeezed his father's shoulder. "I will, Dad."

He let his hand drop and looked out again toward the ocean. His father did the same.

Without looking at Horatio, Kyle said very softly, "I love you, Dad."

Horatio didn't turn his head, but a sweet smile appeared on his face. "Me too, son. Me too."

* * *

Alexx looked up from her clipboard when Horatio approached, her eyes warm and welcoming. "Hello, Lieutenant... let me guess, you're here to see Calleigh?"

"I am - Calleigh and Maxine. Anything new, Alexx?"

She sighed and pointed to a small grouping of chairs. "Let's sit for a moment, Horatio. We need to talk."

Horatio looked at Alexx's troubled face and felt a stirring of alarm. After they sat down, he looked at her expectantly. "Tell me, Alexx."

She hesitated for a brief moment, and then smiled sadly. "The good news is that Calleigh is expected to make a full recovery."

He nodded. "But I knew that, Alexx. What else?"

"Her brother arrived today. He's going to move in with her for the next several months, helping Mr. and Mrs. Duquesne with her care until she is more mobile and able to take care of things on her own. Finn thinks Calleigh will be able to go home in a few days now that we know she has help. He believes that with rest, the brace and then PT, she will be able to resume her field duties in about two, maybe three months. That is very good news."

Horatio tilted his head, regarding Alexx thoughtfully. "This is not new information, Alexx; we discussed this last night. What's troubling you? It isn't Calleigh, is it?"

Alexx looked down at her clipboard, reluctant to go on.

"Alexx?" he persisted.

She looked up at him, her dark brown eyes filled with sadness. "Maxine's test results have come in. I spoke with the physician handling her case. It's not good, Horatio."

He breathed deeply. "Just tell me, Alexx."

"It's a tumor, sugar."

Horatio leaned back in his chair. "A tumor?"

"Mm hmm... in the brain. The CT scan showed a sizable mass in the left lateral ventricle." She frowned. "I suspected as much, Horatio."

He thought for a moment. "Could the tumor be responsible for Maxine's... behavior?"

Alexx nodded. "It could. Horatio, while rare, it's not impossible that tumors such as Maxine's can result in confusion, hallucinations and the inability to control aggression... in short, psychosis. Or, to be precise, secondary psychosis as a result of focal neurological disease."

She took a pen from her pocket, and flipped over to a clean sheet of paper on the clipboard and rapidly began to sketch a crude representation of the brain. "See this area here, where the two large shapes seem to form an 'X' - those are the ventricles. Here, on the left, is where Maxine's tumor resides. It's quite large... about the size of baseball.

"The size of the tumor accounts for the terrible headaches she's been experiencing."

"How long could she have had this... this thing growing inside of her, Alex?"

"Well, these can be fast-growing, aggressive tumors, Horatio. It would not surprise me if she's had it for less than six months."

Horatio was silent for several seconds, thinking. "Alexx... the murders in Miami... they occurred over the past several weeks. Is it really possible that a brain tumor could have caused Maxine to... I just can't believe this, Alexx."

"Believe it because it is possible. Intraventricular meningiomas -"

Frowning at Alexx, Horatio interrupted. "_Intraventricular meningioma_? English, please."

She smiled faintly. "Sorry. Medical lingo - occupational hazard, I'm afraid. 'Intraventricular meningioma' is a medical descriptor for the tumor and where it is located. Personality changes, hallucinations, headaches - all are symptomatic of this type of tumor - and its location.

"Think about it, Horatio. Until recently, Maxine has always appeared stable. The late onset of the psychosis and the headaches made me suspect the possibility of a tumor. Tumors have been associated with the presence of psychotic illness... and the presence of hallucinatory symptoms."

Horatio shook his head. "You're telling me Maxine is 'seeing' her sister...holding conversations with her... because of a brain tumor."

"I think, in this case, it is probable. Horatio, she has no past history of violence. But we know that based on her family history, she apparently has a lot of unresolved feelings about her sister. With the onset of her illness, those feelings intensified, and the inhibitors of the brain were compromised, creating the delusion that her sister was there... guiding her, encouraging her, pleading with her. Horatio, do you remember that sniper guy years ago... back in the 1960s... a young fellow in Texas?"

"You mean Whitman... Charles Whitman? The guy who gunned down people from a tower at the University of Texas?"

Alexx nodded. "He's the one. Left a suicide note after getting up and killing his wife early one morning. In the note he said he no longer understood himself and that he had become a victim of repeated irrational thoughts. Later that day, he loaded his car with a trunkful of guns and ammo, made it to the top of the tower and randomly killed thirteen people - and then committed suicide.

"An autopsy was performed on Whitman, and it was discovered that a tumor was wedged between three areas of his brain - areas associated with the control of fear and aggression. It's been suggested that had the tumor been removed while Whitman was alive, his violent impulses would have terminated."

Horatio ran a hand through his hair. "Alexx, what happens if Maxine's tumor is removed?"

She paused, choosing her words carefully. "In cases where tumors such as Maxine's are deemed operable, psychotic symptoms and hallucinations have been known to disappear."

"Is Maxine's tumor operable?"

"That is being evaluated by her doctors."

"And if they can't remove it?"

"There are other possibilities... radiation, chemotherapy. Removal is the best option. You understand, Horatio... that if the tumor is not operable and the secondary therapeutic options are ineffective... Maxine will not emerge from the state of delusion in which she currently exists. Also, if the inoperable tumor continues to grow... well, it is a certain death sentence for her."

Horatio shook his head. "And if the tumor is successfully removed and she recovers, she will have to deal with the consequences of her actions."

"I am guessing that a defense attorney would formulate a defense on an insanity plea..."

Horatio looked at Alexx, his brow troubled. "Yes. How successful that would be is anyone's guess. With no previous history of violence... copies of the CT scans showing the location of the tumor... and expert medical testimony, I suppose a jury might be persuaded that Maxine is not guilty by reason of insanity... or diminished capacity. But it's a risky proposition."

"What other options are there, Horatio?"

"None, I'm afraid. But you know what worries me most, Alexx?"

She looked at her friend, and saw the compassion in his eyes.

"What worries most is how Maxine - if she is cured - will deal with the reality that she murdered two men and attempted to murder another."

"She's a victim, Horatio... a victim of an illness she had no control over."

He pursed his lips. "She is. There's one thing, though...

"Apparently she was aware Melanie had committed those murders in Mobile... and she never came forward."

Alexx took a deep breath. "I know, sugar... and I suspect that knowledge weighed heavily on her and was part of the mix that the tumor served up."

Horatio dropped his eyes to his hands. He was surprised to see that he was clenching them. "How could she not have come forward, Alexx?"

"Family. Melanie was family. There's a very strong bond between identical twins," said Alexx. "But that doesn't excuse it, does it?"

"No," he agreed. "It makes it understandable - not excusable."

He looked up and met Alexx's eyes. He wasn't surprised to find them wet. "No matter how things work out, Maxine is not looking at a very happy future, is she, Horatio?"

"No. No, Alexx, I'm afraid she isn't."

TBC


	28. Chapter 28

_Doctor, my eyes have seen the years_  
_And the slow parade of fears without crying._  
_Now I want to understand._

_I have done all that I could_  
_To see the evil and the good without hiding._  
_You must help me if you can._

_Doctor, my eyes..._  
_Tell me, what is wrong?_  
_Was I unwise to leave them open for so long?_

_'Cause I have wandered through this world_  
_And as each moment has unfurled,_  
_I've been waiting to awaken from these dreams._  
_People go just where they will._  
_I never noticed them until I got this feeling_  
_That it's later than it seems._

_Doctor, my eyes..._  
_Tell me, what you see!_  
_I hear their cries._  
_Just say if it's too late for me._

_Doctor, my eyes,_  
_Cannot see the sky._  
_Is this the prize for having learned how not to cry?_

_ ~ "Doctor, My Eyes" - Jackson Brown_

Chapter Twenty-eight - Healing

Horatio looked up from the small mountain of paperwork on his desk. Putting aside his pen for a moment, he rubbed his eyes.

It was Saturday. And it was early. He should have been at home, in bed, snuggled up against Lauren's soft body. Instead, he'd made the decision to come into the office and attack the paperwork that had piled up over the past several days. Picking up the pen again, he frowned. _Sometimes I feel more like a paper pusher than a cop._

The file marked **VALERA, MAXINE** mocked him from the far corner of his desk. He hadn't the heart to look through it again. It had been several days since Maxine's breakdown. Now that the shock had subsided, all that was left was the sense that he'd somehow lost track of things without meaning to. Remembering the grilling he'd taken just the day before from Internal Affairs, his expression soured. Like a pack of vultures, IAB had immediately descended upon Horatio - and his session with Steve Booker had not gone well.

_Now there's a man to do Rick Stetler proud,_ he thought.

Abandoning any semblance of amiability, Booker wasted no time in getting to the point: _You never noticed any odd behavior from Ms. Valera? Nothing? That's difficult to understand, Horatio. Was she aware of the investigation into the murders? Was she playing with you? This won't look good for you and your people. The media is always looking for an angle that will make us appear incompetent - and you served one up to them on a silver platter. Think of it: you and your team of crack CSIs unable to solve a series of murders - and all along the murderer was right under your nose! You'll be lucky to keep your jobs after this is all over..._

Horatio had noted the tell-tale glimmer of satisfaction in Booker's eyes. It confirmed his poor opinion of the man. A former protege of Stetler's, Booker had been waiting for a chance to even the score.

Dismissing IAB from his thoughts, Horatio attacked the paperwork on his desk with renewed vigor.

When his cell phone began to buzz, it was with genuine surprise that Horatio noted two hours had passed. He looked at the number on the phone's screen. With a grin, he leaned back easily in his chair.

"Well, well... Beau Renaud, you cantankerous old bastard," greeted Horatio, resuming effortlessly their old verbal jousting. "What are you up to? I came into the office today so I could take care of important business without the usual work-week interruptions. Have you been away from police work so long that you've forgotten a cop has more important things to do than shoot the breeze with an old warhorse like you?"

The voice on the other end grunted. "Shit, boy, 11 a.m. on a Saturday and you're at the office? Well, can't be anything too important going on if you've got time to waste throwin' insults my way. My guess is that you're there to deal with paperwork. Never enough hours in the day for it... least that was always this 'old warhorse's' experience."

"That hasn't changed," replied Horatio, glancing dismally at the slowly diminishing pile of requisitions, travel expenditures and police reports in front of him.

"You ought to be home on a Saturday morning. Didn't you tell me you had a lady? The hell with the paperwork, boy! Goddam crap'll always be there. What's she got to say about you spending Saturday morning riding a desk when you could be spending time riding her... if you get my drift."

Horatio winced. He was used to his old friend's crude humor, but still... "I'm reasonably certain you didn't call to discuss my sex life, Beau."

"Sweet Jesus, no! It would make for a short discussion."

_Touché_, thought Horatio, grinning. "Okay, so why are you calling?"

"You're big news, boy! Surely you know that," began Renaud, his voice suddenly serious. "That case you and I discussed... it's gone national. Ain't every goddam day that two sets of murders in different cities are connected and tied to twin sisters, one of 'em dead and the other suffering from a mental illness... Fact that one of them girls was working under your supervision is just the cherry on the sundae, Horatio. Yeah, you're big news, son. Movie of the Week kinda news."

Horatio sighed. "Don't I know it," he said dryly.

"How you holding up?" the old man asked quietly. "That's why I'm calling; I'm worried about you, boy."

_How was he holding up? _It was a fair question.

One of the reasons he found himself at the office on a Saturday was because dealing with the news media had taken up so much of his time. The press had been hounding him since the case had broken. The press conference he'd held did little to whet their appetite for the lurid story. He took questions, many of which were uncomfortable to answer, and told them what he could. They weren't happy when he had to answer several with the statement that certain aspects of the investigation couldn't be discussed or it would jeopardize the State's case.

_The State's case. Against Maxine. Good Lord!_ At times, the incongruity of it all would unexpectedly wash over him and shock him anew.

"Horatio, you still there?"

"I am," he said glumly. "You want to know how I'm holding up? I've been better."

"Yeah... figured that'd be the case." Renaud hesitated and then began again. "Look, son, I still have my contacts in the police department... and you know how cops talk. The inside gossip is that your perp is more than just nuts - word is, she's got a terminal illness. Any truth to that?"

"The girl has a brain tumor. The doctors say it may have made her emotionally unstable and compromised her sense of right and wrong."

"Yeah... well, that's a new one on me. Brain tumor, huh?" Horatio heard the cynicism in the old man's voice. "You buyin' that?"

"She's worked for me for quite some time," he replied carefully. "Until last week, she never showed any indication she was capable of... of anything like this. She was friendly, hard-working, pleasant. But there were a few clues along the way that all was not well... clues I only see now, in hindsight. Even so, I might have guessed she was ill; but never a killer, Beau. Never a killer."

"So you're saying she was 'good people'?"

"Seemed to be."

"What happens now?"

"Her doctors think the tumor is operable. If they, um, get everything out, she'll have to undergo a psychiatric evaluation to see if she's still delusional. Once a decision is made, she'll stand trial."

"Shit," said the old man, his voice sad. "I hear it in your voice, Horatio... you feel something for this girl..."

"She was one of my people," he said simply. "I don't take that lightly. What she did was out of character in the extreme. I ask myself if I should have guessed what she was capable of, but no answers come to me. The truth is... I'm confused."

"Who wouldn't be?" asked Renaud roughly. "I've known you a long time, Horatio. Your judgment about people has always been pretty damned good.

"Listen to me, boy. You can choose to feel guilty about not picking up on that girl's actions or you can realize that people can always surprise you. Even the best of 'em. You're a good cop... a smart one. Remember that."

Changing the subject, Renaud asked, "Did you ever talk with Rhea Brody? There was nothing about that in the news reports - and, by God, a psychic would be big news."

Horatio's mood darkened at the thought. _Just about the last thing I need!_

"I did speak to her, but we managed to keep it out of the news. The case is sensational enough without adding that to the mix."

"She of any help to you?"

"Not directly... but she did bring up things that later proved accurate... It surprises me how on-target she was about certain aspects of the case."

Horatio hesitated, wondering if he dared ask Beau about his own experience with Mrs. Brody. In the end, he decided to risk it.

"Beau, tell me something... you visited Rhea at her house, right?"

"Yeah... cute little place, tiny white house, lots of pretty flowers."

"Did you see the snake?"

"Yeah, freaky thing."

"Why do you suppose she keeps it?"

The old man was silent for several seconds. "I don't know, Horatio. Maybe she pities it - two heads on one body, fighting each other for dominance. Not the animal's fault - just a misstep by Mother Nature. The thing probably wouldn't last out in the wild. Maybe all you can offer a creature like that is protection. And a little kindness - it probably needs it."

_Don't we all?_ thought Horatio.

"Did you notice anything else?" he persisted. "Anything odd about the flowers? The color of the flowers... did the color seem to... change?"

Horatio felt a small thrill as he recalled the profusion of red geraniums in Rhea's house and how the bright cherry color appeared to darken into a ghastly hue reminding him of blood.

Puzzled, Renaud replied, "No, I didn't notice anything out of the ordinary... Were you spooked, Science Boy?"

"A bit," he admitted. "For a minute, I thought I saw something. Probably my imagination..."

"Real suggestible, aren't you?" replied Renaud with dry amusement. "Well, well... whaddaya know? The Science Guy gets an education - there's more to life than what we can see under a microscope, heh?"

A thoughtful expression appeared on Horatio's face. "You might say that."

* * *

After Renaud's call, Horatio sat quietly for several moments, staring into space. The old man's call had reminded him of something he'd been thinking about for the past few days.

All that talk with Renaud about Rhea's flowers hadn't been idle conversation. He found he couldn't get something out of his head, and his vague thoughts began to crystallize as he reached for the memory of something Rhea Brody's husband, Jamison, had said to him.

The thin, bent old man had been out in the backyard tending to Rhea's garden when he and Frank had shown up to interview the lady. An old Vietnam vet, he had required Horatio's assistance to rise from a kneeling position in the dirt. _What exactly had he said?_ Horatio struggled to remember, and it finally came back to him.

_"Rhea, she got a gift for growin' things. That woman seems to just drop seed into the ground and it starts takin' off. Ain't never seen nothing like it. She's like that with people, too - has a gift for takin' somethin' that's broken and bringing it back to life. ...Guess I'm an example of that. 'Fore I met Rhea, I was a pretty sorry sort... all broken inside."_

Three smart raps on the door frame returned Horatio's attention abruptly to the present. Frank Tripp stood in the doorway, looking at him with a puzzled expression.

"Where were you? A million miles away? I called your name twice - you were looking right through me!" said Frank.

Horatio grinned sheepishly. "Sorry... What are you doing here on a Saturday?"

"Think you're the only one who has paperwork? I had to get caught up. The guard told me you were in - want to grab a bite of lunch?"

Horatio looked at the paper on his desk and was about to take a raincheck when Frank said, "It'll still be here when you return, Horatio."

Sighing, he agreed. "You're right. Let's grab a couple of sandwiches in the park... get some fresh air."

* * *

Frank took a big juicy bite out of his pastrami sandwich and looked about the park. "Sure is a pretty day," he said, wiping his mouth with a paper napkin. "Damn shame to spend it inside doing paperwork."

Horatio nodded. He was watching a group of young Latino gardeners tending flowerbeds around a large ornamental pond. Three stone frogs spouted jets of water, breaking the placid, glass-like surface of the water.

Taking a bite from his sandwich, Horatio noticed the old woman sitting on a bench near the pond. She was seedy-looking and dressed in mismatched clothing that had seen better days. A narrow, metal cart on beat-up wheels was parked close to her, and she kept a possessive grip on its handle. She was watching the young men intently, a disgruntled look on her face.

"Machado! Hey, man!" one of the gardeners yelled to another. "Bring them pink flowers over here... gotta pull these old ones out and replace 'em."

With mild interest, Horatio continued to observe the young men as they removed flowers past their prime and replaced them with robust, brightly blooming plants. Horatio inhaled deeply, enjoying the fresh, spicy scent of the newly-laid mulch and fertile plant life.

As if reading his thoughts, Frank commented, "Good, clean smell... country smell. Did I ever tell you I used to work for a landscaper?"

Horatio's brows shot up in surprise. "You, Frank?"

Frank grinned. "Don't look so startled. Yeah, back in East Texas. I worked for a little family-owned business. Used to work after school in the spring time and full time during summer. Did it all three years of high school. I was big, even back then... I used to haul mulch out to folks... sometimes work in the nursery, selling bushes and flowers to weekend gardeners. That sort of thing."

"You're a man of surprising talents, Francis. The idea of _you_ selling posies is... compelling."

A glint of teasing laughter appeared in his eyes as he added, "I never knew you had such a sensitive side. Selling flowers to ladies for their gardens. That's really sweet, Frank. Perhaps you'd like to put a few flowerbeds in my yard. Lauren likes climbing roses; pink. Shall I ask her to come see you? You can advise her on the merits of pink versus white. What do you say?"

"I say don't be such a smart ass," grumbled Frank amiably.

Horatio grinned.

Comfortable in their silence, the two men continued to eat and watch the gardeners.

"They're putting those Black-eyed Susans too close together; they'll quickly outgrow that space," commented Frank. "You gotta be careful with your perennials."

Horatio looked at Frank pointedly. "I'm sure."

Embarrassed, Frank cleared his throat and changed the subject. "I stopped by Calleigh's house on my way to work this morning. I wanted to see how she's making out."

"What did you think?"

"You know Calleigh - Miss Personality. She was cheerful and upbeat. She's a fighter, that one. My guess is she'll be back in the field ahead of that snooty doc's prognostications."

"Snooty doc?"

"Yeah. Dr. Harper. _Finn_ Harper. You tell me, Horatio... what the hell kind of name is _Finn_? Is he a fish or something?"

"You've met Dr. Harper?"

"Oh yeah, I've met him! He was there when I stopped in. Arrogant son of a bitch. Took one look at me and then seemed to dismiss me, never making eye contact after that. I got the feeling he paid me as much notice as the dirt beneath his shoes."

"Hmm... yes, that sounds like Harper. Well, he's good for Calleigh, and that's what counts."

Frank swallowed another bite of his sandwich and then said, "I hear Valera's surgery is scheduled for next week."

Horatio's happy mood dimmed a bit at the reminder. "That's right... Monday afternoon, according to Alexx."

"Damn... a brain tumor. What are the chances, Horatio? I mean... Valera always seemed a healthy woman..."

Horatio shook his head. "Not the last few months. Her thoughts were disorganized. She had headaches, experienced hallucinations. According to her doctors the tumor is operable. There's a good chance its removal will restore her to right thinking."

_Right thinking? _Suddenly, Horatio laughed shortly.

Frank glanced at him. "What's eating you?"

He frowned and shook his head. "Nothing, Frank. Not a damned thing." He took a bite from his sandwich, again watching the young men at work.

Risking a covert glance at Horatio, Frank felt unsettled. It hadn't been only paperwork that had brought him into headquarters this morning. He was concerned about Horatio. He had rightly suspected that his friend would be in the office. He'd known Horatio long enough to guess at his intentions - and his emotions.

"Look, Horatio," said Frank softly, "it's a hard thing. I feel bad about it, too. It's no one's fault. What's that saying? 'Shit happens.' Well, that's what it is, friend. Shit."

"Yeah... that's what it is."

"Assuming the surgery is successful and Valera is restored to a normal state of mind, what do you think will happen? I'd guess her lawyers will have her plead not gulty by reason of insanity. Tough defense, though."

"Agreed, but probably her best. The defense is likely to depose medical experts, admit copies of brain scans showing the tumor's location and why it's significant... and she has a past history of non-violent behavior... I'd say she has a better than fair chance of being judged not guilty."

Sighing, Frank wiped his hands on his napkin. "Well, even so, that ain't saying much. Not guilty by reason of insanity keeps her out of prison or the chair - "

"But not out of a state mental facility," interrupted Horatio. "Who knows how she'll react to the knowledge that she killed those men? Frank, she may never recover. Certainly the Valera we've known will never come back - she's gone. Maxine is likely to require treatment for years; maybe forever."

The thought depressed both men and they were silent for several minutes.

"One thing makes me feel better," said Horatio softly. "That box you found at Valera's place..."

"The memory box?"

"Yes... There was one thing I couldn't reconcile, Frank... It seemed Maxine had known for several years about her sister's involvement in the Mobile murders but withheld the information. I know Melanie was her sister - but she had a responsibility to come forward. And yet she didn't."

"Because she _didn't_ know, Horatio."

"Right... until very recently..."

Frank nodded. "We now know the box originally belonged to her mother. Good old mom knew all along what Melanie had done. Inside the box was a letter from Melanie addressed to her mother. In the letter, she confessed to the murders and then sent the letter off to mom. Seems after she sent the letter, she drove her vehicle into a concrete wall. Guess she couldn't live with herself any longer..."

"The 'car accident' that took Melanie's life," mused Horatio. "Not an 'accident' at all."

"No," agreed Frank, "the intention was suicide. That letter to her mother reads like a suicide note. I think the girl felt it was time her mother knew the truth. Maybe she wanted to make her suffer for being willfully blind all those years. Anyway, it must have affected the old lady beause she held onto it. Probably felt too guilty and ashamed to come forward. Probably meant to take the secret to her grave. She might have, too - if someone hadn't gone through her personal effects when she died and sent the box to Maxine. We found a shipping label on the box."

"Funny, don't you think, that they wouldn't have looked through it, read the letter Melanie wrote to her mother, and told the Sheriff in Mobile?"

"I dunno, Horatio. People are strange. Every once in awhile they fool you and show some respect for someone else's privacy. My guess is they just taped up the box and shipped it to Valera."

"Who received it a few months ago," commented Horatio.

"Yeah... the date of shipment was stamped on the label."

"By the time she received that box the tumor was already beginning to weaken her hold on reality." Horatio frowned. "It doesn't change the outcome, but it does make me feel slightly better."

Frank looked at his friend. "It's important to you to know that it was the tumor's effects that made her keep quiet."

"Yes, Frank, it is. If Maxine had known about Melanie's involvement prior to her illness, it would mean she made the decision to withhold the information while fully competent. It also would mean that I had been mistaken about her... about who she was."

Horatio looked up at the sky. The sun didn't seem as bright to him as it had earlier.

"Well, it's a small comfort, Horatio; doesn't really change anything, does it?" asked Frank.

"Perhaps not; but sometimes we take comfort where we can find it."

"Hey! Hey!"

Their attention was suddenly diverted by the old lady who had been glaring at the gardeners as they worked. Wheeling her cart over toward the young Latinos, she demanded in a loud, querulous voice, "Hey! You hear me?"

No one looked up.

"Hey! You! What are you gonna do with those old flowers you're pulling out of the ground?" she asked waspishly.

One of the young men looked up at her and removed his ear buds and grinned. "Hey, Mama, how you doin'?"

"Don't be disrespectful, I asked you a question! What are you, deaf?"

He smiled at her. "No disrespect, Mama. I was listening to music." He pointed toward the flowers. "I'm gonna be throwing these away... they're no good now. All wilted; broken. Used up, Mama. Trash heap for them."

"I ain't your mama!" The old lady glared at him. "That's the problem today - people ain't got no sense. Ain't nothing wrong with those plants. They just need a little attention, a little lovin' care."

The gardener shrugged dismissively. "Well, the boss says it's the trash can for 'em. What the boss says, we do. I ain't got time for this, lady." He turned away and began working again with the flowers.

"Can I have 'em?" she asked.

He glanced her way briefly. "What the hell, Mama. You want 'em, you take 'em. I don't care."

Furtively, the old woman looked left and right. She then quickly gathered up several of the plants and hastily put them into her cart, muttering all the while. "Ain't got no sense. Waste not, want not. Just need tending, a little care."

Frank grinned as he and Horatio watched her wheel the cart away. "Wonder where she's going to put those flowers? Think she actually has a place to plant 'em?"

"Who knows, Frank?" Horatio's thoughts were distracted. _Some care? Tending?_

An idea that had earlier occurred to him began to tug at him, refusing to let him go.

* * *

The paperwork complete, Horatio yawned. It was good to be done with it. He was now free for the rest of the weekend.

_Well, almost..._

He bit his lower lip and fiddled with the pen in his hand. After several seconds, he came to a decision. Taking a deep breath, he put the pen aside and picked up the phone. After punching in the number, he waited impatiently for the caller to pick up. He was about to terminate the call when a deep, rich molasses voice answered.

"Hello?"

"Mrs. Brody... this is Horatio Caine," he said, adding unnecessarily, "of the MDPD."

"Why, Lieutenant," she said warmly, "I've been thinking about you today."

"Have you?"

"Yessir... you've been on my mind. How are you, Lieutenant?"

"Fine... I'm fine, Mrs. Brody... I wanted to ask you something... if you have a minute."

"Lieutenant, I have plenty of time for you."

"I've been thinking about that day at your house... How did you know? The things you saw - how did you come so close?"

He heard the woman sigh. "You're talkin' about that poor girl from your lab, aren't you?"

"I am. How did you know she had a sister? And about the sexual abuse from the family friend? And the... significance of the letter **M**?" Horatio's brows drew together as he remembered the fractured **M** that Rhea had seen in her visions, and he was again struck by how many words from the case had begun with that letter: Maxine and Melanie; Mobile and Miami. Murder. Molestation.

He recalled the **M** had appeared broken in Rhea's visions - did it somehow signify Maxine's broken spirit?

So many things to wonder about.

"How did you know?" he repeated.

Rhea sighed. "Now if I knew that, I'd tell you, Lieutenant. But truth is, I just don't know. Things will just wash over me... like a wave approaching the shore. Comes in strong, then leaves suddenly. I see 'pictures,' get feelings. It ain't easy... seeing those things, experiencing those feelings. I've never been able to reason it out why I have to see and feel so much sadness and horror. Why me?

"When I was a little girl, I asked my grandmother about it. She had the 'sight' too. She said it was God's will that some of us get a look-see into things most other folks ain't privy to. We're expected to do something with that ability, Lieutenant. That's what my grandmother said - when God gives you a gift, you're expected to use it to make the world a better place. Somehow.

"Well, sir, I guess it's the best answer I ever got for the why and wherefore of it, and it's the best answer you're likely to get from me." He heard soft laughter. "Although I 'spect what God considers a gift and what I do are two different matters. Lord knows this ability can sometimes be a terrible burden.

"'Specially when folks don't believe what you're trying to tell 'em," she added pointedly. "And most don't."

An uncomfortable warmth suffused Horatio's face and neck as he accepted the soft criticism. "It's not an easy thing to believe, Mrs. Brody, for most of us."

"I know. Flies in the face of common-sense, don't it? 'Specially for you scientific CSI-types." Warm amusement softened her words. "Tell me, Lieutenant, was I any help to you?"

He sensed the urgency behind the question, the need to feel she'd made a difference. "Yes ma'am, you were... and that's the reason I'm calling you."

She chuckled. "I was waiting for you to get to the reason for the call... I knew you had one. I've had a feeling about you all afternoon."

"How would you like to help out a little more?" he asked, his voice serious.

"If I can, I'm willing."

"You know, I was struck by a few things when I visited you. How's that old dog of yours?"

"Killer?" She laughed. "He's fine; I'll tell him you asked after him."

"You do that," he smiled. "Here's the thing. I think your gift is more than just seeing things, Mrs. Brody. I think you know that.

"Your husband... he said you have a way of putting broken things back together. You also have a gift for healing, don't you? The way you healed that beat-up old dog... the way you helped Mr. Brody... after the war..."

"That ain't nothing special, Lieutenant. That's just love and compassion. Taking time to listen and understand. We're talking about simple kindness."

"There's nothing simple about kindness, Mrs. Brody, and there's too damned little of it."

He paused, gathering his thoughts.

"Mrs. Brody, I know a young woman who is laying in a hospital bed right now... On Monday, a gifted man of science will cut into her brain and try to remove something ugly and aggressive. Science tells me that if this malignancy is cut out, this woman will be able to think and reason as she did before - and that phantom twins and murderous urges will disappear. In short, she'll be healed."

Rhea said nothing, listening attentively to Horatio's words.

"But you and I know that isn't entirely the case. Is it, Mrs. Brody?"

"No sir," she replied thoughtfully, "I don't think it is."

"No," he agreed. "There's healing - and, then, there's _healing_. They can get to the root of the physical problem, these scientific men with their impressive abilities to excise growths, but there's something they can't touch. The spirit."

Rhea laughed. "You gettin' all metaphysical on me now, Mr. CSI?"

He smiled. "Maybe I am. But I saw those crazy blooming flowers all over your house - well-tended, aren't they? And I saw a happy old man where I might have seen an embittered, crippled war vet. I also saw that horrid creature you keep under glass and protect - when most of us would take a shovel to it. You have a love for creation, Mrs. Brody. You're that good steward of the earth and its creatures that the Bible talks about."

Embarrassed, Rhea replied, "Your mama did right by you, didn't she, Lieutenant? Made sure you got a good Sunday school education."

"She did well enough, I suppose... and I guess in spite of the passage of time and the things I've seen, bits and pieces of what I learned as a child sometimes come back to me. But here's the point: you're a healer of things broken. Maybe that... that gift of sight... is what enables you to feel compassion. You've seen it all, haven't you? And it's made you bigger somehow... it hasn't jaded you, or made you smaller..." He paused, suddenly perplexed by his own feelings.

"You worried it's made you smaller, Mr. Caine?" she asked kindly, picking up on a wistful tone in Horatio's voice. "Have those eyes of yours seen too much?"

"Yes... too much," he admitted. "And each year it gets harder to have a little faith... in people, in God. In life. Tell me, how do you do it, Rhea?" he asked, using her given name for the first time. "How do you see the things you do, and not lose your faith?"

"I remind myself," she said softly, "that while there's a powerful amount of darkness in this world, there's a lot of light, too. But you gotta be willing to see it. Some folks, all they see is the darkness. That ain't right. You gotta look for the light - and you have to add to it. You gotta do what you can to keep the light strong so that others see it too."

Her voice took on a gentleness. "But you know that, Lieutenant. Otherwise, you wouldn't be so concerned about faith - or about broken things. You'd just do your job and move on. But darkness works on you, eats at you, troubles you. You're a man of the light. A good man. I can tell. When you came to see me, I saw something when I looked into your eyes."

Curious, he asked, "What did you see, Rhea?"

"A pair of eyes that's seen some terrible things. You've shed some solitary tears, Lieutenant. You're eyes speak for you, did you know that? They tell a story of fear and pain... and loneliness. They're cautious eyes, always evaluating everything around you - and sometimes hiding. Hiding behind those sunglasses you like to wear! Hiding from happiness.

"But there's one thing those eyes can't hide. It's clear as day to those who take the time to look - and that's that you'e a good man."

Suddenly uncomfortable, Horatio abruptly got to the point of the conversation. "Rhea, I need a favor - for someone else. Maxine Valera is the woman who is having the surgery."

"The lady responsible for the murders in Miami..."

"Yes. When they cut that thing out of her brain, she's going to need a lot of help. When she realizes what she's done and what's facing her, I'm not sure how she's going to be able to handle it. She's going to need a lot of support."

"Healing?"

"Mm-hmm. I want her to have a friend who has glimpsed her past and who has compassion for her. She's facing a terrible future, Rhea... at the least, she'll be facing confinement in a facility for people with psychiatric disorders... until it can be proven she's whole again. If it can ever be proven."

"Just what are you asking me, Lieutenant?"

"Just to be her friend, Rhea. Can you do that? Can you visit her, can you give her emotional support? During the trial... and into the future? She has no one."

"She has _you_..."

"It's not enough. She needs someone like you. She needs to be put back together again. She's broken. Doctors can only do so much... she needs a little... heart. You have such a big heart, Rhea."

Rhea considered and then spoke. "I'll do it, Lieutenant. I don't think God would take it kindly if I walked away from this... must have been one of his reasons for letting me see that girl's past, I guess."

"Thanks, Rhea. I appreciate it more than I can say."

He was about to terminate the conversation when Rhea stayed him. "Lieutenant, you might try worrying a little less about others and maybe a little more about yourself. I've seen your type before."

"Oh? What type is that?"

"The kind of folks who let life's cares mount up on 'em so that they never recognize they've got a right to a little happiness. So I've been wondering whether you've taken my advice."

Horatio remembered. "About choosing happiness."

"Hm... that's it. So, how's that going?"

"I'm working on it, Rhea. I promise you, I'm working on it."

* * *

It was late afternoon when Horatio walked past the grumpy old security guard at the front desk. He'd recognized the man from previous weekend stints. As he moved past him, Horatio offered him a nonchalant wave.

"G'night, Andy."

The balding old man rubbed his gray mustache with a stubby, thick index finger, and then pointed it at him. "G'night, Lieutenant. Be careful out there."

"Always am, pal, always am."

As he departed the building, he wondered why the old man always seemed slightly familiar to him. _Another lifetime, perhaps_, he thought with dark amusement. Not one to believe in reincarnation or multiple lifelines, he grinned. _That's where talking to Rhea gets you... crazy ideas suddenly seem... not so crazy._

Looking toward the spot where he'd parked his car that morning, his heart gladdened.

"Hey, Lieutenant," greeted Lauren softly as he approached, "care to help a damsel in distress?"

Leaning against the passenger side of his car, she looked anything but distressed. Dressed in a soft blue sundress with spaghetti straps, her pale hair cascading in waves over one shoulder, she looked delightful. Her gray eyes twinkled with some hidden secret.

He bent forward and warmly kissed her mouth. "Well, this is a surprise."

"A happy one, I hope."

He smiled and brushed the soft waves behind her shoulder. "A very happy one. So, where's your car? How did you get here?"

"Alexx dropped me off... she was at PCFM today."

He nodded.

"By the way, she said she'd been by to see Calleigh. She says Calleigh's doing great! I'm so glad, Horatio. I know how worried you've been. Finn tells me that he's never seen a person more determined to get well."

Horatio tilted his head, and gazed at her intently. "So... it's _Finn_, now, is it? No more 'Dr. Harper?'"

She grinned. "Well, he _is_ the boss, you know. We've now graduated to a first-name basis. You're not jealous, are you?" she asked playfully.

He shook his head. "Nope. Just teasing you."

"Rats! I so wanted you to be just the tiniest bit jealous!"

"Shall I go and beat him up?" he asked, smiling. "Tell him to stay away from my woman?"

She laughed. "I can only imagine what he'd say if you did! He's so cool and unapproachable, only summoning me when he needs something to help him with his job - he'd wonder if you'd lost your senses."

Looking at her pretty face, he said teasingly, "Well, you'll let me know if he gets out of line, won't you?"

"Mm-hmm." She paused, and then, more soberly, "You don't much like him, do you?"

"No... not much. How about you?"

She considered. "No. Can't say I do. He's rather cold. Pompous. But I've heard he's an excellent doctor - and his organizational skills and contacts in the medical field will make him a valuable asset to PCFM. But enough about him... there's another 'doctor' I want to discuss with you."

"Oh?" Horatio looked at her quizzically.

"Mm-hmm. Dr. Lauren."

Surprised, he grinned. "Really? And what about 'Dr. Lauren?'"

Lauren donned a mock serious expression and crossed her arms under her chest. "Dr. Lauren thinks you have a 'condition.' It's called overwork. The tell-tale symptoms include exhaustion, worry and general unhappiness. You have all the symptoms, Lieutenant. If left untreated, this can be a very serious matter. We need to take immediate, drastic measures to halt the progression of this ailment."

"Drastic, huh?" he asked, raising his brows questioningly. "What do you have in mind, Doctor?"

"Please note the overnight bag in the rear seat" she said with authority, pointing toward the back of the car. "Said bag contains toothbrush, bathing suit, and casual clothing.

"My prescription for what ails you, Mr. Caine, is an overnight stay with your physician at a certain little place on the beach that we are both familiar with, and a quiet, romantic dinner at the charming restaurant next door. If you fill this prescription and follow the directions set by your doctor, I can assure you that your condition will be greatly improved within a twenty-four hour period. Satisfaction guaranteed."

A boyish delight spread across his features. "You really want to do this, huh?"

"Yep. The reservations are already made, Mr. Caine. All part of the doctor's prescription."

"Where's the prescription? I don't see any prescription."

Her playful manner faded, and she smiled tenderly at him. "The prescription is in here, Horatio," she said softly, pointing toward her heart. "It's always been here. You just have to pay attention to it.

"Oh, honey, let's go away tonight! We'll have a romantic dinner, and watch the stars from the restaurant's deck. We'll talk of inconsequential things and laugh at bad jokes over too many glasses of wine! We'll sit in the sun tomorrow, listen to the waves... we'll be beach bums!" She leaned forward and put her arms about his neck. "Oh, do let's get away, Horatio... you need it. If you don't want to go there, we can choose another place."

He pulled her close and rested his forehead against hers. She smelled of fesh spring flowers. A good scent. It made him happy.

His thoughts drifted briefly to Rhea, and he remembered her admonition. He smiled.

"Let's do it," he whispered in Lauren's ear. "Let's choose a little happiness."

TBC


	29. Chapter 29

_The family you come from isn't as important as the family you're going to have.  
__~ Ring Lardner_

Chapter 29 - A Family Affair

_Several months later..._

Horatio Caine wanted nothing more than to slip an index finger inside the collar of his shirt and give a gentle tug at the confining, stiff fabric. But, of course, he couldn't. And even if he could, the light gray necktie, tautly secured about his throat, wouldn't permit the insertion of a nervous digit.

Instead, he stood there stiffly, his mind drifting away from the words being said by the serious man standing in front of him. Horatio's blue eyes wandered briefly toward the woman facing him; her silvery eyes sparkled in response. He had the uncomfortable feeling that his discomfort was a palpable thing to her, and that she found it amusing. Surreptitiously, she winked at him. In that brief blink of her eye, he saw the laughter that wanted to bubble up inside of her. _Traitor!_ he thought. In spite of himself, a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he turned his gaze, if not his thoughts, back to the man standing before them.

His thoughts, however, still centered on Lauren.

The past few months had been good ones for them. Happy. In spite of the physical and emotional demands of the job, his personal life had gracefully succumbed to a gentle pattern of stress-free, contented days. And nights. It would sometimes surprise Horatio that life had become so pleasant, and he would find himself experiencing an unexpected double-take. _Was this really his life?_

When that happened, a quick, silent prayer of thankfulness would make its way upward to unseen gods, and Horatio would find himself astonished that a young Catholic boy still lurked beneath the exterior of the cynical, too-often disappointed man.

Superstitious? Yes... Perhaps.

It was hard to break the habit of distrusting happiness. For too many years, it had been a capricious caller, an infrequent visitor who seldom tarried.

But, maybe, advice from a friend had made the fickle guest decide to take up permanent lodging. _Choose happiness._ Did he really make that decision... or had happiness finally chosen him?

He still wasn't quite sure. But he was glad for the emotion. Heartened by the easy way he, Lauren and Kyle had fallen into a gentle rhythm of satisfied family life, he had been emboldened to make a decision and had finally put the question to Lauren.

And so it was that over the past several weeks, certain favorite pieces of Lauren's furniture had made its way to Horatio's home, along with her clothing and other possessions. The condo had been sublet.

_Baby steps..._

"AHEM!"

The man standing before them cleared his throat sternly, and Horatio's thoughts returned with startled abruptness to his present whereabouts.

"Shall I repeat the question, friend?" continued the man. "Do you take this woman to be your wife?"

Feeling a heated redness start from his collar and travel up to his face, Horatio cursed himself for forgetting himself at such an important time. Shamefaced, he looked at the minister, but was surprised to see the gentleman was not gently admonishing him but the nervous bridegroom who had failed to speak up.

Awkwardly, Frank Tripp cleared his throat and finally managed a strangled, "I do. I do!"

Glancing at his bride, Frank worried she'd misinterpreted as reluctance his lateness in answering such an important question. Instead, the irrepressible Lucy Price (soon to be Tripp, thank God!) began laughing softly. The pretty sound of her indulgent mirth produced gentle, relieved laughter among the friends and family standing in the small hallway. The lateness of Frank's response had created a tense moment in the Victorian mansion that had been chosen for the wedding.

Suddenly, Frank's anxiety fell away, and he laughed boisterously, joyfully reiterating, "I DO, I DO, I DO! I'd be a damned fool if I didn't!"

"Easy, Francis, easy," quietly murmured Horatio, standing by his side and secretly amused by his friend's enthusiasm. The tough detective was acting like a kid who had just received a bicycle for Christmas. Horatio looked over at Lauren, standing close to Lucy, to see if she was as entertained by the spectacle as he. He was, instead, bewildered to see her dabbing a lace handkerchief to the corner of her eyes. She returned his glance and he saw the happy moisture beading her eyelashes. She was genuinely fond of Frank and Lucy; their vows had clearly moved her.

The minister, a longtime friend of Frank's, shook his head charitably. He was used to Frank's profanity (although he offered up a silent prayer of thanks that the ceremony wasn't being held in the church!). Their long association had convinced the man that the gruff, hardbitten cop had a kind, tender side for those who needed help. And, as he well recalled, that was how Frank had come to know the lovely woman he was marrying. Thus, it was with real pleasure that he blessed the union.

"Well, then, I pronounce the two of you married. Now go ahead and kiss her, you big dope!" said the minister, the fondness in his tone unmistakable.

Frank grinned and leaned forward. "Mrs. Tripp?"

Lucy's laughter suddenly dried up and a tender, serious expression traveled across her pretty face. Smiling sweetly, she raised her hand and gently laid its palm against Frank's cheek. "Mr. Tripp," she answered softly, and Frank took her into his arms and kissed her soundly.

"Go get 'em, Tiger!" called Eric from the back of the small crowd after a moment had passed. The pretty blond standing next to him shook her head with an exasperated chuckle. "Eric!" Eric shrugged happily, his teeth flashing brilliantly in his handsome, tanned face.

Frank looked up from the kiss and glanced in Eric's direction. He wore a grin much like the cheshire cat.

A voice rang out from the other side of the hall, "Tiger? Looks more like a pussy cat to me!" Hoots of affectionate, derisive laughter erupted at Ryan's observation.

"Okay, okay, knock it off, you guys. Have a little respect for the occasion, please!" Frank growled with mock severity. He then looked tenderly into Lucy's face and kissed her again for good measure.

Straightening up, he yelled, "Hey, we've got food, drink and music in the other room so if you funny guys can restrain your wit for a few minutes, let's head over there and get this party in gear!"

The good-natured, murmuring group headed to the other room, and Frank reached for Horatio's hand and shook it. "Thanks for standing up with me. Meant a lot to me."

"As it did me, friend, as it did me. Now if you don't mind, I'd like to kiss the lovely Mrs. Tripp."

Lucy smiled. Leaning forward, she surprised Horatio by kissing _him_.

"Thank you, Horatio. You've done so much for me." A brief shadow passed over her face, as she recalled the events of more than a year ago... and how she'd come to meet Frank and Horatio. The memory of her former husband, now dead, threatened to darken her happiness.

Horatio saw the passing shadow and whispered softly in her ear, "Don't let the past interfere with your happiness, Lucy. Jerry's dead. He can't hurt you - so don't let him."

Quickly, and so quietly that only he could hear, she whispered back, "I know... but sometimes it's hard to forget."

"You can, though. You make yourself forget it, okay? Make the decision to be happy with Frank. He loves you, you know."

She smiled. "I know. And I'm crazy about him."

Lauren moved to stand closer to Horatio, and Frank leaned forward. "Turnabout is fair play, hey, Lauren? Want to kiss the new bridegroom?"

"Absolutely," she replied, kissing him. "Be happy, you two! We're thrilled for you." Her hand then slipped into Horatio's, and he raised it to his lips, kissing it.

He smiled at his friends. "She's right. We are."

"Okay, enough of the hearts and flowers stuff. Let's go party," said Frank. He felt as if his emotions were dangerously close to spilling over. _Time for a beer, pal,_ he thought, _before you get to weeping like a goddam little girl in knee socks!_

* * *

Horatio stood quietly amongst the revelers, fingering the stem of the champagne glass in his hands. He stared pensively into the contents of the fluted goblet.

As was ever his practice, he stood off to the side of his friends, preferring to watch the festivities rather than join in. He wasn't a prima donna, but a lot of cajolery from his friends was often required before he could be persuaded to join them in their celebrations. _Why is that?_ he wondered, not for the first time.

He enjoyed being with his friends. His team. Perhaps it was his past, still exerting its influence on him. It was hard to let go of the habits, the memories, of his youth. How often the youthful Horatio had warily watched his father's exuberant, celebratory moments, while waiting in dreadful anticipation for the inebriated celebrant to turn dour and violent.

No, Horatio never felt truly at ease in social gatherings. He couldn't turn off the switch that forced him to wait, uneasily, for the other shoe to drop.

"Hey, Dad."

Horatio turned and saw Kyle approaching him. His heart gave a pleased little lurch as he watched his son, cane in hand, making his way toward him. _How well he looks!_ he thought, pleased at the sight of him.

Kyle was dressed in a deep blue suit with a crisp white shirt, and for this occasion had borrowed one of the few ties Horatio owned. More important to Horatio, his son had begun utilizing the prosthetic limb and now walked with the use of a cane. The hateful crutches had been relegated to a barely used closet in Horatio's house. The thought filled him with satisfaction. With the cane and the artificial limb, Kyle was able to walk with a slight limp, but one that was growing increasingly less noticeable as the young man became more used to the prosthesis.

The sessions with Art Shapiro had helped the boy. So, too, had the talks he and Kyle had begun to share more frequently. But Kyle still had a long road to travel, and Horatio didn't fool himself that all obstacles were behind him. There were likely to still be some bumps in the road; well, they'd travel that road together and navigate the obstacles. It reassured him that Kyle now appeared to have accepted what had happened to him, and was ready to move forward again and reclaim his life. The acceptance of the prosthesis was a move in that direction - and so, too, was the decision by Kyle to attend the University of Miami in the fall.

"Son," acknowledged Horatio as Kyle reached his side.

"You look rather lonely, standing here all by yourself," said Kyle, looking into Horatio's eyes. "Everything okay?"

"Do I? I'm fine. Just enjoying the... the pageantry." He smiled and pointed toward Frank, dancing closely with Lucy, his eyes closed as he held her tight. "It's not everyday one sees Frank Tripp in such a dreamy mood ..."

Kyle grinned. "Looks happy, doesn't he?"

Horatio nodded, watching his friend swaying with Lucy on the small dance floor. "He does. I'm glad for him. He's a good man... and he's been lonely."

In a manner reminiscent of his father, Kyle tilted his head and studied Horatio. "He's not the only one. And I'm glad for _you_."

"Me?" Horatio looked astonished.

"You," repeated Kyle. The young man's eyes drifted over to where Lauren stood with a small group of Horatio's friends. She was engaged in conversation with Alexx, Calleigh and Eric, and seemed quite animated.

"I'm glad that you seem more settled lately... happier," continued Kyle. "And I'm especially glad that you asked Lauren to move in with you. She was spending all her time at the house anyway."

Horatio smiled. "Yes, well... it seems time, don't you think?"

"I do. You know, Dad... um, you're not getting any younger."

Startled, Horatio looked at him. "I beg your pardon?"

An impish light appeared in the young man's eyes. He shrugged. "In a couple of years, you'll be sixty. Don't you think it's time you settled down? Any chance that you'll be the next cop to walk down a church aisle?"

_You never know,_ thought Horatio, glancing in Lauren's direction. His eyes warmed at the sight of the pretty blond. Her long, silky dress fell gracefully over the warm curves of her body, and its deep violet color contrasted prettily with her gray eyes, making them sparkle with silvery gleams. He watched as her hand elegantly moved toward the side of her face, gently sweeping some errant waves behind a soft, bare shoulder; as she did, her eye happened to catch Horatio's and she smiled at him. He returned the smile, thinking once again, _You never know._

But Horatio was a cautious man. _Baby steps, first,_ he reminded himself. _You have to learn to crawl before you can walk._

He forced his attention back to Kyle. "Tell you what," he said lightly, "when that time comes, I'll make certain I tell my best man, okay?"

It took him a second, but then Kyle realized what Horatio was saying to him. "Your best man will be ready when that time comes," he said earnestly, a shyness in his tone.

Horatio smiled.

His gaze then settled upon Calleigh and Eric, deep in conversation, their heads close together, not quite touching.

"She looks well, doesn't she?" commented Kyle, noticing his father's attention. "Has she returned to the lab yet?"

"Monday," replied Horatio. "She returns on Monday. She's now been released from medical care by her doctor and deemed fit for active duty." A softness passed over Horatio's face as he looked at the two young CSIs. There was something new between them... something nice.

"Are they an item?" asked Kyle, watching Calleigh laugh as Eric whispered something in her ear.

"I hope so," replied Horatio. "They seem... good together. She's a steadying influence on him. While she was recovering from the back injury, he spent a lot of time with her, taking care of her." He looked at Kyle. "But we don't gossip about that - right?"

"Right," said Kyle, smiling.

Horatio looked closely at Eric. He noted the ease in his friend's manner as he spoke with Calleigh. It was clear that he felt something for her; the question in Horatio's mind was whether Calleigh returned the feeling. Watching her smile into Eric's eyes, it seemed she did. There was something between the two that warmed Horatio. Two of the people he cared most about coming together... it was good.

Suddenly, Eric threw his head back and laughed, his eyes twinkling with vitality, and in that moment Horatio felt the room take a slight tilt. Something in his brother-in-law's laughter brought back a memory and, without warning, Horatio was reminded of another wedding. Much smaller. But there had been laughter. Good spirits. Sparkling eyes and so much hope. _Marisol._

As always, bittersweet emotions claimed him whenever memories of their time together surfaced. Even now, after the passage of several years, he still didn't know what the relationship had been all about. All he knew was that she had been beautiful. Sweet. She had built castles in the air and took him along with her. She had needed him.

And in some way, he had needed her as well.

So different from Lauren. With Marisol, he had tried so hard to make it all work. He had been a willing accomplice in her dreams, always cognizant that there was such a short span of years to make them all come true. In spite of his feelings for her, being the agent of her dreams and aspirations had been exhausting. Well, at the time he'd needed to be needed. _And now?_

Now he was the one who was in need. Selfish or not, he could finally admit that to himself. _Goodbye, Marisol. I think it's time to let you go, sweetheart._ Watching Lauren with his friends, peace settled upon him.

At times she exasperated him with her emphasis on making him talk about things he'd rather not deal with... and yet... with Lauren, it was all about _him_. He liked that. On some level, he knew it was self-serving of him, but it was nice to be able to relinquish control for once. It was nice to just... be.

"Dad?"

He looked at his son.

"Dad, you seemed a million miles away... where were you?"

Horatio smiled. "There's something about weddings... a time for reflection and memories. You're too young to understand that... but in a few years, you'll know what I mean." He saw Lauren smile and gesture to them. "Come on, let's go see what Lauren wants."

The two men joined the small group of friends. Eric grinned and pointed toward Ryan who was standing in a secluded corner of the room, deep in conversation with his date. "H, look at Wolfe... Frenchie really has her hooks into him, doesn't she?"

"Eric, I don't think Ryan would take it well if he knew you were referring to Ms. L'Engle as 'Frenchie.'"

Eric shrugged. "No disrespect intended. Can't say I like her very much, though. I've met friendlier faces in swamps infested with 'gators. Did you see Frank's face he saw her at the ceremony?"

"Frank is not a fan of Ms. L'Engle, but apparently Ryan is."

"Oh yeah, the boy's got it bad," said Walter. He took a swig of his beer and remarked, "She's got him wrapped around her little well-manicured finger. All I hear is 'Blandine this,' 'Blandine that.' Gets on my nerves, I don't mind saying."

"Check it out, man!" laughed Eric. They watched Blandine trail a finger slowly up the lapel of Ryan's jacket, a smoldering expression on her face. She leaned forward and kissed him full on the mouth.

"Woo hoo!" Walter chortled, his elbow nudging Eric in the ribs.

"Okay, you two, stop it," said Calleigh. She looked at Horatio and raised her brows. "Some friends, huh?"

"Don't be too hard on them, baby girl. Boys will be boys," remarked Alexx, smiling at the two indulgently.

"C'mon, Cal, it's all in good fun," protested Eric. "We're family, right? What's a bit of kidding among family members?"

Alexx moved closer to Horatio. "How are you doing, sugar? I was watching you during the ceremony... there seemed a moment when you weren't really quite there..."

"Alexx, Alexx," he chided. "You were supposed to have your eyes on the bride."

She said nothing.

"Weddings... they bring back a lot of memories," he admitted softly.

"Marisol?" she asked.

"Among others." He hesitated. "You know... I look around here and see the happy faces... and I'm happy for them. For me. And yet..."

"And yet?"

He took a deep breath. "Maxine."

"Oh, Horatio." Alexx shook her head. "You need to let it go. There's nothing more to be done there. She's getting the help she needs."

He nodded. He knew that. Since the removal of the tumor, Maxine's hallucinations had vanished, but the reality of what had occurred had plunged her into despair and depression. Instead of being at the wedding with her friends, the young woman was a resident of the University of Miami's inpatient psychiatric hospital.

"Horatio," repeated Alexx, "honey, you know that is where Maxine belongs. For now at least. She needs counseling to come to terms with what happened."

"Do you think that's possible, Alexx? To ever come to 'terms' with what she did? Will she ever regain her life?"

"In a fashion."

Horatio frowned. "Exactly. 'In a fashion.'"

The two friends silently recalled the events of the past few months. A plea of not guilty by reason of insanity had been entered on Maxine's behalf by her attorney. Three months later, she had been tried and acquitted of the crime based on mental incompetence. The medical testimony and the testimony of her colleagues as to her rationality prior to the tumor's emergence had convinced the Court that Maxine could not be held liable for the crimes committed while under the physical and emotional duress of the disease. Instead of a prison term, she was remanded to the University of Miami's psychiatric hospital for treatment until it could be proven she was no longer a threat to the community.

Rhea Brody had proven as good as her word, visiting Maxine and keeping Horatio in the loop as to how the young woman seemed to be adapting to her new reality. So far, the news had been less than encouraging. Maxine functioned like the walking dead, barely noticing her surroundings, mired in deep depression.

_'Have__ a little faith, Lieutenant,' Rhea had counseled. "She's broken, but she's mendable. It's just gonna take some time. Maybe a lot of time... but don't lose heart.'_

"Look, sugar, don't lose heart," said Alexx, interrupting his thoughts and surprising him with Rhea's same words. "Maxine is where she needs to be right now. And you're where you need to be... with the people who love you... _with us._"

Horatio ducked his head, never comfortable when others expressed their affection for him. "Thank you, Alexx."

Lauren moved closer to him, and slid an arm around his waist. She'd noticed his face had taken on a melancholy expression, and it concerned her. "What are you two talking about? You're both much too serious for such a happy occasion," she said lightly.

Horatio sipped his champagne. "You're right," he said, making a decision to put sad thoughts aside. Lauren was correct: this was a happy occasion. Tilting his head, he smiled into her eyes. "Did I mention that you look beautiful today?"

"You did, but I don't mind hearing it again." Her eyes ran up and down the length of him. "And I don't mind pointing out again how handsome you are." She wanted, suddenly, to kiss him but thought better of it. She knew public displays of affection made him uncomfortable. For some perverse reason, it always made her want to dare one, but she decided to be good and bide her time.

Suddenly the tinkling sound of a knife hitting the side of a cyrstal goblet caught the group's attention.

They all looked expectantly toward Frank, who was holding up a champagne goblet in one hand, while the other pulled Lucy close to him. "Listen up, everyone, listen up, please," he called.

The room quieted and the big man cleared his throat. "Okay, as you all know, I'm not one for making flowery speeches so this is gonna be short and sweet." He looked down at Lucy and smiled.

"My lovely wife, Lucy," - he suddenly stopped as a wolf whistle erupted from somewhere in the room. "Is that you, Walter? Knock it off, you clown," he said with mock severity. His friends laughed as Walter grinned sheepishly.

"As I was saying before the peanut gallery interrupted," he continued, smiling, "Lucy and I are real glad that you all came out today to share in our happiness."

"And your liquor!"

Frank sighed. "Lucy, I need to get a better class of friends," he lamented, looking at his bride.

She looked out toward the crowd, her face bright with happiness. "Oh, I don't know. I think you have a pretty good group of people here."

"Yeah, listen to your better half, Tripp!" Again Tripp's friends joined together in laughter.

"Are you gonna let me finish, for crying out loud? Sheesh!" He cleared his throat and began anew, this time more seriously.

"I'm a lucky man," he said, looking around the room. "I found a wonderful lady to share my life with. I've got three beautiful daughters standing over there, grinning from ear to ear 'cause they know their old man is happy. What's more, I've got friends. Good friends." He suddenly grinned, looking in Walter's direction. "Smart ass friends, but awfully good ones.

"I guess what I'm trying to say here is... well... you're all more than friends. You're family. And having all of you here, sharin' in my happiness... well, it's made this a real family affair." Frank stopped abruptly, embarrassed at showing his emotion so openly.

The room was quiet. Each person understood what Frank was saying and shared his feelings. The emotion in the room was unmistakable. Like Frank, they were visibly affected.

Lucy raised up on her toes and leaned in to kiss her new husband on his cheek. "You're doing great, honey," she said, encouraging the usually emotionally-reticent Frank.

Reassured, Frank nodded. "Horatio?" he called, looking around the room.

His friend caught his eye and raised his glass upward. "Here."

Frank continued. "Anyway, if Horatio's willing, I'd like my best man to make a little toast and get me out of all this hearts and flowers baloney."

"Your best man is, indeed, willing," smiled Horatio. He moved to the center of the room, and his eyes swept over the gathering, lingering on Lauren and Kyle a bit longer than the others.

His love. His son. His team.

Friends. Family.

He looked down at the glass he held, and then began speaking. "I was reading a book the other night. Something the author said stayed with me. He said DNA doesn't mean a damned thing. That's not what makes a family."

He raised his head and let his gaze roam slowly around the room, searching out the faces of all those who meant so much to him: His lovely Lauren. His courageous son. Frank and his new wife. His forever brother, Eric. Brave Calleigh. Kind-hearted Alexx. Pretty Natalia. Young Mr. Wolfe. Irrepressible Walter. And the oddly endearing Tom. His people. His family.

After a moment, he continued. "This same gentleman said that when everything goes to hell, the people who stand by you without flinching - they're your family."

He watched as Eric nodded in agreement.

"Another writer reminds us of this: that friends are the family we choose for ourselves.

"Today, we gather here together as Frank's friends. As Lucy's friends. More importantly, we gather here as people who have chosen one another. We gather here as _family_."

He faced the bride and groom and raised his glass high. "To Frank and Lucy," he said, smiling.

"To Frank and Lucy," repeated the group in happy unison.

Again, Horatio lifted his glass. "And... to family... those present as well as those who are missing."

They lifted their glasses, happy and secure in the moment. Life was good. In spite of the hard times, the sad times, life was good. It was important to remember that, and in harsh times to take refuge in one another's presence. And that is what the members of Horatio's team had always done. That's what families did. Good times, bad times... they supported each other. They were family.

Softly, one by one, Horatio heard the toast repeated by his friends and it warmed his heart.

"To family."

THE END

* * *

_**Author's note****:**_

_**1) Some of you may have noticed a similarity between this last chapter of 'A Family Affair' and that of Baglady's wonderful story, 'Trouble With Friends.' The similarity is truly coincidental. When I first conceived the story, 'A Family Affair,' it was the last chapter of the story that first occurred to me. Out of it arose all the preceding chapters. Imagine my surprise when a fellow author had similar thoughts regarding her story's end! Well, I was surprised - and a bit depressed, and wondered how ever would I now end a story I had so long envisioned? Finally, I admitted to myself I needed to stick with my original concept. And so I wrote a note to Baglady and explained that I would be posting an ending chapter that very closely matched her own. That very gracious lady wrote back to me and said not to worry - that such things happened, and that she would look forward to reading my chapter when published.**_

**_Her generosity and understanding is much appreciated by yours truly! Thank you, Baglady. :)_**

**_2) I never thought I'd take so long to complete this story. I am, therefore, grateful that so many of you stuck with the story and continued to provide me with your feedback. Thank you so much! You are a lovely bunch._**

**_3) After a good meal, a wise person knows when to lay down the fork and back away from the table. That is pretty much how I'm now feeling about my series of stories about Horatio and my character, Lauren Chambers. Therefore, it is my present intention that this be the last story in my series about those characters. I hope you enjoyed reading this particular Horatio universe as much as I enjoyed creating it._**

**_I love CSI Miami, and I particularly love Horatio Caine. It has been a pleasure to spin a tale about so complex and honorable a man. I do have an idea or two for a future story featuring our favorite lieutenant. _**

**_But for now, thank you for reading my story._**

**_Jasmine105_**


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